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January to June, i8qs. 

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J^n Illustrated Jffonthty 



Vol. IX. 


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ALBANY, H.R.H. THE DUCHESS OF. By Mary Spencer-Warren 
(Illustrations from Photographs by Messrs. Gunn & Stuart.) 

ANNO DOMINI 1795. B y Alfred Whitman 

(Illustrations from Old Prints and a Painting by Wheatley.) 


BEES OF MVTIIIA, THE GOLDEN. A Story for Children. By Horace Murreigh ... 596 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 

BOGEY. By W. A, Wickham 120 

BOGEY AT LUNCH. By W. A. Wickham 240 

BUSH STORY, A. By Thornton Stewart 617 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 


(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

CENSUS UP TO DATE, THE. Written and Illustrated by J. Holt SCHOOLING 562 

CHILD OF THE MIDI, A. From the French of Alys Mallard 3 

(Illustrations by W. B. Wollen, R.I.) 

CONVENT OF SINNERS' POINT, THE. By Mrs. Egerton Eastwick (Pleydell North)... 483 
(Illustrations by Sidney Paget.) 

DEAD REVEL, THE. By Mrs. St. Loe Strachey 

(Illustrations by Warwick Goble.) 
DIARY OF A DOCTOR, STORIES FROM THE. (Second Series.) By L. T. Meade and 
Clifford Halifax, M.D. 

I. — Creating a Mind 

(Illustrations by Warwick Goble.) 
II. — The Seventh Step ... 
III.— The Silent Tongue 
IV. — The Hooded Death 
V. — The Red Bracelet ... 
VI.— Little Sir Noel 
(Illustrations by Gordon Browne.) 
DRIFTING. A True Story of Japan. By Clement Scott 
(Illustrations by Warwick Goble.) 








( Written and Illustrated by James Scott.) 

(Illustrations by A. Pearse. ) 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

VoL U.-81. 

by L^OOgle 

Original from 

•• 340 
.. 392 
.. 398 




I.— How the Brigadier Held the King 363 

II. — How the King Held the Brigadier 501 

III.— How the Brigadier Slew the Brothers of Ajaccio ... 631 

{Illustrations by W. B. Wollen, R.I.) 

FABLES. Illustrated by J. A. Shepherd. 
III. — The Cock and the Jewels 
IV. — The Ass and the Pet Dog 
V.— The Fox and the Crow ... 
VI. — The Mouse and the Frog 
VII —The Lion and the Cub ... 
VIII. — The Dancing Bear 



IX.— The Parrot, the Cards, and the Beak 594 

X. — The Ostrich and the Birds 708 

FANCY DRESSES, SOME CURIOUS. By Framley Steelcroft 694 

(Illustrations from Photographs and Original Sketches.) 

FRIEDRICHSHOF : The Empress Frederick's Residence in the Taunus Mountains. By 708 

Arthur H. Beavan 433 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 


I. — Cheltenham College 283 

II. — St. Leonards and Great Harrowden Hall 457 

( Illustrations from Photographs. ) 

GOLF EPISODE, A. By Miss E. M. J. Edwardes 712 

GOT, MONSIEUR. By the Baroness Althea Salvador 253 

(Illustrations from Photographs and Sketches.) 

HIGHWAYMEN, THE TWO. By H. D. Lowry 219 

(Illustrations by W. Thomas Smith.) 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

( Illustrations from Photographs. ) 
HOW GAMES ARE MADE. By W. G. FitzGerald 607 

(Illustrations from Photographs and a Painting by Hayman.) 
HOW WESTON WON HIS PRINCESS. By A. Hutchison-Stirling 464 

(Illustrations by G. C. Glover.) 

Jones 581 

(Illustrations from Photographs, with Facsimiles of the Autograph Manuscripts and Portraits of 

the Writers. ) 


XXXIX.— Jules Verne. By Marie A. Belloc 206 

(Illustrations from Photographs. ) 

XL,— Sarah Bernhardt. By Edward John Hart 526 

(Illustrations from Photographs by Nadar, Paris ; Reutlinger, Paris ; and La Photographie 
Nouvelle, Paris.) 

XLI.— Lord Onslow in New Zealand. By Constance Eaglestone 664 

(Illustrations from Photographs. ) 

IMPOSTURE, A SINGULAR: A Narrative of Actual Fact 451 

(Illustrations from Old Prints and Diagrams.) 

INTERVENTION, AN. From the Italian of Math ilde Serao. By Alys Hallard 443 

(Illustrations by W. Thomas Smith.) 

■■ ( r\ot>L" Original from 


(Illustrations from Photographs.) 


By " Kasomo " 



LENSTER'S-END. By Mrs. E. Newman 

(Illustrations by W. Thomas Smith.) 

(Illustrations by H. R. MILLAR.) 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

... 682 
... 69 
... 225 


(Illustrations from Photographs.) 
MATE IN SIX MOVES. By H. Russell Preston 

(Illustrations by A. Pearse.) 

By Edward John Hart 

.. 409 
.. 116 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 


OCEAN GRAVEYARD, AN. By J. L. Hornibrook 
(Illustrations by W. Christian Symons.) 

OXFORD AT HOME. By Harold George 
(Illustrations by Max Brerbohm.) 

... 174 
... 109 


(Illustrations from Photographs. ) 

(Written and Illustrated by J. Holt Schooling.) 

47, I9i 

Carr, Mr. Comyns 64 

Chambers, Mr. Haddon 186 

Churchill, The Late Lord Randolph 190 

Colchester, The Late Bishop of ... 66 

Du Cane, Sir Edmund Frederick ... 525 

Duckworth, Canon 185 

Fenton, Sir Myles 292 

Fleming, Canon 405 

Gladstone, Miss Helen 67 

Gladstone, Mrs. W. E 291 

Gully, The Right Hon. W. Court, 

Q.C., M.P 645 

Hamilton, Lord George 65 

Hatton, Mr. Joseph 188 

Lord Mayor, The 68 

Markham, Mr. Clements R., P.R.G.S. 408 


Mathew, Mr. Justice 

Newcastle, Duke of 

Pai.liser, Miss Esther 

Paton, Vhe Late Mr. Waller H., 


Pollock, Mr. Baron 

Read, Mr. W. W. 

Sandhurst, Lady 

Sandhurst, Lord 

Stannard, Mrs. Arthur (John 

Strange Winter) 

Sullivan, Mr. T. 

Verdi, Giuseppe 

Willard, Miss Frances 

Winchilsea and Nottingham, The 

Earl of 







(I/lustrations from Sketches by the Author. ) 


SECOND VIOLIN, THE. From the French of Augusts Vitu. By Alys Hallard 
(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 


(Illustrations by J. Finnemore, R.B.A.) 

(Illustrated with Di^ms.) , 






From the German 703 

{Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 
SIEGE OF BERLIN, THE. From the French of Alphonse Daudet 603 

(Illustrations by Sidney Paget.) 
SILVER COIN, A. From the French of A. Roc u en ant 203 

(Illustrations by Sidney Paget.) 
SPEAKER'S CHAIR, FROM BEHIND THE. By Henry W. Lucy 25, 166, 265, 377, 515, 624 

(Illustrations by F. C. Gould.) 
SPINNING-WHEEL, THE GOLDEN. A Slavonic Story for Children. From the 

French of Xavier Marmier 476 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 
STOPPING AN EXECUTION. By V. L. Whitechurch 123 

(Illustrations by W. B. Wollen, R.I.) 
STORM, THE. From the French of Arm and Si lvestre 258 

(Illustrations by Sidney Paget.) 
STRANGE CASE AT ST. ALBANY, THE. By Winifred Smith 589 

(Illustrations by A. Pearse. ) 


(Illustrations from Photographs and Sketches. ) 
TRAMP'S ROMANCE, A. By Denzil Vane 229 

(Illustrations by H. R. MILLAR.) 
TREASURE OF THE RAM-BAGH, THE. By Herbert Russell 243 

(Illustrations by W. THOMAS SMITH.) 

UNICORN, THE. A Story for Children. By E. P. Larken 346 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 


(Illustrated 'by Facsimiles of Curious Valentines.) 

VISION OF GOLD, A. Written and Illustrated by J. Holt SCHOOLING 94 


(Illustrations by J. Finnemorb.) 

YUSSUF. A Tale of the Desert. By A. VV. Durrant 137 

(Illustrations by A. Pearse.) 



(""rw^nL'' Original from 




I Original from 


A Child of the Midi. 

From the French of Alys Hallard. 

true child of the Midi. She 
had been born in the beautiful 
Sunny South, and had inherited 
the quick, impulsive nature and 
the highly imaginative tempera- 
ment of her meridional ancestors, who, for 
generations past, had inhabited the quaint 
old town of Nerval. Very beautiful was 
Ren£e in her seventeenth year, with her dark 
hair, grey eyes shaded by long, dark lashes, 
her faultless complexion, and perfect figure. 
Her life had been one long, happy dream in 
her little home-world. 

Ren£e had been the spoiled darling of her 
father and of her three brothers ever since 
she was a wee, toddling baby child. In vain 
did her mother expostulate sometimes — 
declaring that the child would never be fit 
for the world's rough ways and the coming 
battle of life, brought up as she was in such a 
thoughtless, happy fashion ; but M. de Nerval 
would reply : " Let her be happy as long as 
she can. One never knows what Fate has in 
store for one's children. The only thing we 
parents can do is to make their childhood 
happy, and shelter them from the storms of 
life as long as we possibly can." 

And so things went on in the old way, 
and Ren^e grew up adored and teased by her 
three brothers, indulged by her parents, and 
almost worshipped by her aristocratic old 
grandfather, who still wore his knee-breeches, 
buckles on his shoes, embroidered waist- 
coats, lace ruffles, and his powdered pig-tail. 

Amongst the friends of Victor, her eldest 
brother — who was an officer in the army — 
was a certain young lieutenant, Raoul 
d'Harcourt, who had always been one of 
Rente's greatest admirers. His parents 
having died when he was quite young, he 
had been brought up by his grandfather, 
who was an old friend of Rente's grand- 
father; consequently the two families had 
seen a great deal of each other, and as 
children Raoul and the De Nervals had 
always played together. 

Ren£e was extremely high-spirited and had 
a very strong will, and the most marked trait 
in her character was a candour and love of 
truthfulness which could admit of no equivo- 
cation whatever. 

On her seventeenth birthday, Victor had 
come home from Paris on a few days' leave, 
and to her astonishment he was accompanied 

by his friend, Raoul. After luncheon, all the 
VoL «... i. 

young people started off for a ramble, and 
on the way home again, as Raoul was walking 
with Ren^e, she said to him, laughing : — 

" And so, Monsieur le Lieutenant, although 
you are now a military man with all kinds of 
responsibilities on your shoulders, you can 
still give yourself a little holiday when you 
feel inclined ? " 

"It was very difficult to get off, as it 
happened, but I wanted so much to come 
with Victor, Ren£e," and there was something 
in the tone of the young officer's voice which 
made Ren£e want to break the silence that 
followed, so she asked : — 

"Well, and how did you manage to get 
off, then, Raoul ? " 

"On the plea of my grandfather's ill- 
ness " 

" But is he ill ? We did not know " 

" Nor I, either," laughed Raoul, " but it 

had to be something important ." Here 

the young man stopped abruptly on seeing 
the expression on his companion's face. 

Ren^e was looking at him with wide-open, 
astonished eyes, in which was a flash of angry 

" Do you mean to say that you lied, 

" I had to," answered the young man; and 
as he gazed earnestly at the fair, flushed face, 
he felt a dull, heavy pain at his heart, for 
something told him that all chance for him 
was gone. 

"I should have thought a man and a 
soldier would have been above stooping to a 
lie," exclaimed the girl, with withering scorn. 

" Ren£e," pleaded the young officer, whose 
manly pride was stung to the quick, " don't be 
hard on me ; it was for your sake that I lied." 

" Thank you, I feel honoured," said the 
girl, but the flash was still in her eyes as she 
turned them on Raoul. 

"Listen, Ren£e" — and there was a world 
of tenderness in the young man's voice — " I 
could not go on any longer in uncertainty, 
and so I wrote to my grandfather and asked 
him to speak to your people for me, and let 
me know whether I dared ask you to be my 
wife. Your grandfather and M. de Nerval 
gave their consent, and on getting the letter 
I was obliged to come at once to learn my 
fate from you. Ren£e, be merciful, forgive 
me, and tell me whether there is any hope ! " 

"None, Raoul; none whatever," and the 
girl threw back her head proudly, and looked 
at her com^?nion with perfect determination 

witt mln^^ 1 ^Ma^f utifu, face - 


" I thought you could have cared for me, 
Ren£e," urged the young man. 

" Perhaps I could have done — but not 
now. I would never marry a man who was 
in the habit of telling lies. I should despise 
him so—" 

"You speak as though you thought I 
always lied. Ren£e, it was only in this one 
instance, and the temptation was so great. 
Won't you forget it for the sake of our long 
friendship — and of my love for you ? " he 

u I could not forget it ; it would 
always be there between us. No, Raoul, 
I would rather die than be married to 
a man whose word I could not trust*'' 

** Is this final ? " the young 
man asked, proudly, almost 


" You are very just, but 
not generous, Renee." 

"That may be/' 

The two walked on ftx 
some minutes in silence, 
each buried m thought. At 

length Ren^e said 
overtake the 
others/' and then, 
quickening their 
pace, they soon 
joined her three 

Victor, who 
had been in his 
friend's secret, 
glanced quickly 
at Ren6e, and 
saw, from her 
flushed face and 
quivering lip, that 
something had 
gone wrong, and 
contrived very 
soon to fall hack 
with Raoul in 
order to hear the 

"It's no go, 
Victor, she has 
refused me out 
and out. Don't 
ask me about it 
yet. I feel as 
though I might 
make a fool of 

Victor said 
nothing, but, as 

" Let us 



soon as he could, he managed to get a few 
words alone with his sister, and he asked 
her point blank : u Renee, why have you 
refused Raoul ? ? ' 

" Don't ask me, please, Victor/' answered 
the girl, "and if you love me, please don't 
let the others ask me anything about it* I 
could never marry him, never, never, and I 
don't want to be asked any questions/* and 
then, taking Victor's arm, she walked home 
with him, leaving Raoul to follow with her 
other brothers. 

Victor was at his wits' end, and so indeed 
were his pa rents, but as Raoul offered no 
solution to the mystery, and Renee's wishes 
were always obcyed 3 no one was any wiser 
on the subject, and things 
went on again in the old 
way, except that M. de 
Nerval thought Ren£e had 
grown more womanly and 
had lost much of her old 
buoyancy. No wonder, for 
it had been a ter- 
rible blow to the 
proud girt, this 
first disillusion, 
this first awaken- 
ing to the disap- 
pointments of 

She had felt 
something of the 
same sensation, 
but Intensified, as 
she had felt years 
before when, on 
Christmas Eve, 
she had opened 
her eyes and seen 
her father filling 
her slippers with 
presents, and had 
realized for the 
first time that it 
was not the little 
Noel after all who 
came down the 
chimney and 
brought the 
Christmas gifts. 

She had ad- 
mired Raoul ; 
indeed, the hand- 
some young 
soldier, so full of 
life and energy, 
had been her 

^freRsnrcPMicrflteh and she 


knew that her admiration was very near akin 
to love ; but now it was all over, for at 
seventeen it is all or nothing. One has not 
learnt to excuse or to tolerate; consequently, 
at seventeen one is rarely generous. 


A year later Victor was pacing up and down 
the station platform in Paris with his friend 
Raoul, who had exchanged regiments in 
order to get away to Africa, and who was 
now starting thither. 

" Do you really mean it, old fellow ? Are 
we not to write to each other ? " 

" Yes, Victor, it is better so. I shall write 
and let you know of my arrival, and after 
that it is better that we do not correspond. 
You see, I've got my life to live, unless I 
have the good luck to be shot down pretty 
soon, and I don't want to be a weak fool. 
If we were to write, I should want to hear 
some news of her ; and then, you see, every 
time I wrote your name it would all come 
back. The fact is, the love for her is deep 
down, it has taken root, for I have cared for 
her all my life. I've got to forget her, though, 
now," he continued, with energy; "and as 
my grandfather is gone, and I have no earthly 
tie, it is better for me to put some distance 
between us. IVe made my plans, Victor; 
and, hard as it is, old fellow, to give up our 
friendship, especially when I shall be in exile, 
still I feel I must do it." 

" I understand, Raoul, I understand ; but 
tell me, don't you think Ren£e will ever 
change her mind ? " 

"No, never, and even if she did I'm 
afraid I am too proud now." 

" Whatever was the reason of it all, Raoul ? 
I never asked you again about it, as one does 
not like to pry into things of that kind, but now 
that you are going away, can't you tell me ? " 

" Why, yes ; there is no reason why I should 
not tell you, Victor. I know you will not 
let it go any further. I let out to her that 
I had told a lie in order to get leave of 
absence that day to accompany you." 

" And is that the reason of it all ? " 

" Yes, but it was enough, Victor," and 
Raoul spoke bitterly. " You know Ren£e." 

" I do ; but does she imagine she is going 
through life like that ? Wait till she sees a 
little more of society. Why, lies are nothing: 
they are simply passed over as necessary 
forms of speech nowadays." 

" But she has lived in a world apart." 

11 She can't go on living like that for ever. 
Mark my words, Raoul, there'll come a day 
when she'll repent her folly." 

" Take care of her, Victor." 
" But if the day should come- 

It will be too late. A man could not ask 
a woman to marry him after she has told him 
that she scorns and despises him." 

" Did she dare to tell you that ? " 

" Something very like it. Oh ! it's all 
over now, Victor. Don't worry about me. 
Take care of her, though ! " 

The signal was just being given. Raoul 
stepped into his compartment, grasped his 
friend's hand, and shook it warmly. 

The two men looked into each other's eyes, 
both thinking it was probably the last time they 
would meet in this world, and then they shook 
hands once more as the train moved slowly away. 

When Victor de Nerval walked out of the 
station into the lively Paris streets, he kept 
his eyes on the ground for some little time, 
as there was a moisture in them suspiciously 
like tears, which he felt hardly seemed con- 
sistent with his epaulettes and the gold lace 
on his sleeve. 

Five years passed by, bringing great changes 
to the De Nerval family. Ren£e had lost 
both her parents, and also her grandfather, 
and was living with her brother Victor in 
Paris. It was the terrible winter of 1870, 
and her two younger brothers had been 
fighting with the French army, whilst Victor 
was now a captain in the National Guard. 

Poor Ren£e, with her intense sensitiveness 
and her impressionable nature, had suffered 
terribly. She was only just beginning to 
recover from the grief caused by the death of 
her parents and grandfather, when the war 
was proclaimed, and her two brothers joined 
the active army, whilst she went to Paris to 
live with Victor. Day and night she had 
been haunted by terrible visions and presenti- 
ments. The two brothers who were with the 
army were never out of her thoughts. She saw 
them in her dreams, shot down by the Prus- 
sians or dying of cold on some dreary battle- 
field, surrounded by the wounded and dead. 

Oh ! it had been terrible, terrible, to go on 
day after day living against hope, dreading 
everything, shut up in Paris away from her 
beautiful home amongst the mountains where 
she had felt so safe, and where life to her had 
been so peaceful and happy. Then, too, 
Ren£e was patriotic, and it was fearful to her 
to remain quietly at home. The inaction was 
killing her, until at last Victor had given his 
consent for her to join the ambulance and 
learn to nurse the sick and wounded. This 
had made her realize even more keenly still 

* e ilmiTOf«S , N a,an) ' ra ' eit 



had given her the satisfaction of feeling that 
she was doing all she could for her country. 

Then the news of the death of her youngest 
brother had come, shot down at Sedan, and 
soon after her second brother had returned 
home wounded. Then came the siege, about 
which so much has been written, but the 
miseries of which can never be realized by 
outsiders. The intense cold, the hunger and 
starvation, the ghastly sights at the ambu- 
lances, the fearful suffering of the French 
at the bare idea of the humiliation of their 
beloved pafrk, and then the desolate houses, 
" where the women were weeping and wringing 
their hands." 

All this poor Ren£e had witnessed and 
experienced, and then, finally, during the siege 

her second brother had suc- 
cumbed from the effects of his 
wound , so that she was left 
entirely alone with Victor. 
Truly, anyone who had known 
the bright, careless, laughing 
girl, in her happy home in the 
sunny Midi, would scarcely have 
recognised the pale, thoughtful 
woman in the clinging black 
dress, ministering to the 
wants of the poor, suffering 

Poor Ren£e ! When her eyes 
were not resting with compas- 
sionate pity on her charges, 
there was a proud, stem gleam 
in them, that told of rebellion, 
for she was young, and knew 
nothing of resignation and sub- 
mission, and to her God's ways 
appeared unjust 

She had prayed to Him so 
earnestly in the little chapel of 
Calvary in the Church of St 
Roch. She had knelt there, 
weeping and praying before the 
cross, and she had taken flowers 
to the cave of the sepulchre 
and, placing them in the hands 
of the dead Christ, she had 
prayed with all her soul for her 
second brother's life, and Cod 
\*\m had tunned a deaf ear to her 
prayers. Henceforth she would 
pray no more, she said to her- 
self ; and so she went on, un- 
tiringly but defiantly, for it 
seemed to her that she was 
fighting against a pitiless Cod 
for the lives of France's soldiers, 
who were so sorely needed by 
their poor, unfortunate pa trie. 


Four years more passed by, and the 
Puritans had already rnmmenrcd repairing 
the terrible havoc which had been made of 
their adored capital, whilst the beau mtmde 
were beginning to fall back into their old 
habits of luxury and gaiety, as though there 
had never been anything so disastrous as the 
winter of '70 and '71 on their calendar. 

It was the month of January, and a bright 
though cold day. It was the first really gay 
season that there had been since the war, and 
the various balls and receptions were being 
discussed by several groups of men at one of 



A young officer 
of some thirty years 
of age, whose 
bronzed face showed 
that he had come 
from warmer climes, 
was seated apart, 
looking idly 
other men 
backs to 

at the 



with their 

him* by a 

window which 
looked out into the 
street, and the 
officer could not 
help overhearing 
their conversation. 
They were neither 
of them young men, 
and the elder of the 
two was singularly 
handsome and 
a r i s t ocrat i c - 1 ooki ng. 
He was apparently 
about forty -five 
years of age, had 
perfectly regular fea- 
tures, and was tall 
and well-built His 
hair was iron-grey, 
whilst his mous- 
tache was still black. 

His companion 
was perhaps some 

five years younger, and there was a disagree- 
able expression in his eyes and deep lines 
about his face which told of an ill-spent life. 

"Why on earth you should object to a 
hand at cards, I cannot think," he was saying. 
** It is perfectly outrageous the way in which 
you have cut your old friends since your 
marriage, Gaston ! " 

" Why," laughed his friend, " I haven't cut 
any of you ; but, you know, when a man 
marries he cannot exactly live at his club just 
as he did before — unless- " 

lt Unless he happens to have merely married 
for a dot and not for a pretty wife* which is 
certainly not your case," 

11 No," answered the other, reflectively. 

" There's no mistake about it, half Paris is 
envying you, old fellow, for of all the beauti- 
ful women, your wife certainly takes the palm. 
But, hang it all, Gaston, you've got everything 
a man can want : high birth , the loveliest wife 
in Paris, plenty of the needful ■" 

" No, there you are mistaken, Georges, I 
haven't I really am not wealthy." 


'* Well, at any rate, that 
isn't the reason why you 
won't come and spend an 
evening with us now and 
again in the old way," 

" I>ook here, I'll tell you 
the exact truth, and then 
you'll understand how 
things are*" 

Here the young officer 
coughed, fearing that 
something private was 
about to be imparted, but 
the two men took no 
notice, and the elder 
one continued : — 

" You know that 
I have been married 
just two years." 

" I do; I have 
reason to know it" 
* ( And that before 
my marriage I went 
in for pretty high 

u Yes, I know 
that too." 

%i Well, you know 
the whole story of 
how I met my wife," 
11 Saw her at the 
ambulance — love at 
first sight — got an 
introduction to her 
brother, etc, etc" 
H Well, you know that Rcn£e is patriotic 

to a degree " 

Here the young officer, who had just risen 
to move away, sat down again, and the con- 
versation continued, 

" What the deuce has that to do with your 
cutting us all ? " 

" Patience, my dear fellow, patience. 
W r hen the war was over and France had her 
debt to pay — the debt imposed by her most 
magnanimous and honourable conquerors — 
my wife's indignation knew no bounds. She 
turned everything which she could dispose of 
into money, and sent it towards the debt. 
The following year we were engaged ; and 
one evening, when she, her brother, and I 
were talking about it all, she announced to 
mc that she wanted to sell all her jewels, for 
she never intended to wear another ornament 
until the debt was paid ; and Victor, who is 
almost as impulsive as his sister, decided that 

he would sell their old home in the Midi " 

** And vptofljirwihut ilid you volunteer? " 
ask^^CE^^^p^^n^pocking laugh. 



44 1 vowed to Renee that I would give up 
play; so that we might with certainty set 
aside something each year" 

" To be a drop in the ocean of this 
infamous debt ? " 

14 Exactly." 

"And you've kept your word by playing 
with me ! " 

" Well , I have only played very occa- 

"I see, and as Madame la Marquise was 
not the loser, that does not count ? n 


"Well, then, will you come round to- 

" I can't play here, Georges, Don't you 
see, if De Nerval dropped in and my wife 
happened to hear of it -why, you see, she 
has rather straight ideas of some things.' 7 

"Well, then, call round for me, and well 
have a stroll to the other end of the Boule- 

" All right ! " 

" Nine o'clock sharp, then," 

" Yes," ami then, soon after, the elder man 
drew a chair up to the table where the young 
officer was sitting, and was soon engrossed in 
the newspapers, whilst Raoul d'Harcourt 
scanned curiously the face of his successful 

"I can scarcely believe it is really you, 
Raoul, even now*." 

" I am very substantial nevertheless, 
and do not look much like a ghost, 
do I ? " 

"No, you certainly do 

" Well, then, Victor, be- 
lieve your eyesight, man," 

" Raoul, are you quite 
sure you do not mind 
meeting Ren^e ? Because, 
even now, we need not go 
if you have the slightest 

The two men were 
driving up the ("hair 
Elysees in a close carriage. 
Raoul threw back his 
head and laughed 
heartily. " My dear 
fellow/ 7 he said, at 
length, " I am not a 
love-sick boy, I can 
tell you that nine years 
spent in rough work in 
Algeria and in Tonquin 
knock the sentiment 

out of a man. It will be odd to see Ren^e 
so much older and with a husband, who you 
say is nearly twice her age, but I can assure 
you Fm not going to fall in love a second 

" That's right," said Victor, heartily. 

Ten minutes later, and Raoul was shaking 
hands with the Marquise de Gram out, about 
whose perfect beauty all Paris had gone wild 
the previous winter. Very, very lovely was 
Ren£e, as she came forward to greet her old 
friend and playmate, and the bronzed African 
soldier, who thought he was proof against 
all sentiment, felt his heart beating more 
quickly as he thus stood once more in the 
presence of the one woman he had loved. 

Very gracefully did the fair hostess perform 
all her duties, and Raoul saw that society 
had not succeeded in putting its yoke upon 
Renee, for she was just as natural and as 
simple and straightforward as ever. One 
great change, however, he saw : there was a 
steadfast look in her beautiful eyes which had 
ne% r er been there in the olden days, and there 
seemed to be a whole w r orld of strength in 
the curved lips which were formerly so proud. 




When the Marquis de Gramont was intro- 
duced, he said he felt sure he had seen Raoul 
somewhere, but the latter did not enlighten 
him by mentioning the fact that it was at 
the club that he had seen him. During 
dinner Ren£e asked Raoul many questions 
about his life in Africa, and seemed to take 
the greatest interest in hearing about every- 

Raoul on his side was observing very 
carefully the husband and wife, and wonder- 
ing whether Ren£e had realized in her 
husband the ideal of her girlhood. The 
Marquis appeared to be devoted to his 
beautiful wife, and one could see his evident 
pride in her, whilst Ren£e was very animated, 
and appeared to be perfectly content with 
her lot in life. 

Once or twice, however, as he watched her 
face in repose, it seemed to Raoul that her 
buoyant spirits were being kept up with an 
effort, and yet she was too natural to be 
acting a part, and, after all, why should she 
not be quite happy, surrounded as she was by 
every luxury, feted by all the beau monde of 
the gay capital, and adored by her husband 
and brother ? 

Twelve months later, Raoul was lying back 
one evening in a comfortable easy chair, 
before a huge wood fire in one of the smaller 
rooms belonging to the same club where he 
had heard the conversation between the 
Marquis de Gramont and his friend. 

Raoul was now a member of the club, and 
spent a great deal of his time there. He 
had thoroughly appreciated a year's rest and 
life of luxury after the time he had spent 
roughing it in Africa, and he had been 
made a great deal of in the aristocratic 
circles which he frequented. 

The handsome African soldier had been 
quite one of the lions of the season, 
and as he lay back gazing idly into 
the fire, he was wondering whether, after 
all, he had done wisely in withdraw- 
ing from the army. He had had serious 
thoughts of joining a party of explorers who 
were setting out the following week for 
Africa, but he had finally decided to give 
himself, at any rate, one more year of luxury 
and idleness, if, indeed, his manner of 
spending his days could be considered idle, 
for never was there a man more active and 
energetic than Raoul d'Harcourt. 

Another smaller room led out of the one 

where he was now sitting ; the doorway was 

covered with a curtain, but the door stood 

open. Suddenly he heard voices in the other 
VoL «.— 2. 

room, and one which he thought he recog- 
nised was saying : " You've got the amount 
down there in black and white. Remember 
that on Saturday it must be paid. The 
fellow has waited and waited, but this time 
you see he's got your signature and the date, 
and you must meet it, for it is out of my 
hands entirely." 

" I cannot meet it," and Raoul on recog- 
nising the voice started from his seat. 

" You must apply to your brother-in-law." 

u Never, I would die first" 

" That sounds very fine ! " said the other, 
sneeringly ; " but the money must be there by 
Saturday, the day after to-morrow." 

"But it is monstrous, this amount. It 
means ruin, absolute ruin, and I could not 
anyhow realize the money in so short a 
time ! " 

"Que voulez-vous y mon chert You have 
played and played, and you have borrowed 
to pay your debts. Money-lenders don't 
supply you with the needful for the simple 
pleasure and philanthropy of the thing. 
They require interest, and interest mounts up." 

" But, Georges, this amount really is 

" All the same, it has got to be met. I'm 
in as big a hole as you are." 

" But you are not married." 

" No, worse luck, for if I had a brother-in- 
law, I should apply to him." 

" Listen, Georges : I am utterly ruined." 

" It's no good repeating the fact, Gaston. 
It's not pleasant information. The only 
thing I can recommend you to do is to 
borrow the tin from M, de Nerval. Now 
take the paper, and remember Saturday. I 
must go now. Au revoir" 

Raoul was standing up facing the door. 
He saw the curtain move, and, before he had 
time to think what he should do, the Marquis 
de Gramont appeared before him. He was 
holding in his hand a stamped paper, his face 
was terribly pale, and his lips were quivering 
with emotion. On seeing Raoul, he stepped 
back involuntarily, then, drawing himself up 
haughtily, he advanced and said, scornfully : — 

" You have heard all, I presume ?" 

" I have," answered Raoul, sternly. 

" Allow me to congratulate you on what 
you have gained by eavesdropping." 

" This is the second time, Marquis, that I 
have become acquainted with your private 
affairs in this way. It is certainly imprudent 
to discuss them without making sure that 
you are alone." 

" And the other time ? " 

" Was a year ago. when you confided to 




the man who has just 
left you why you had 
renounced play, I did 
not know you then." 

" 13 ut now, as you do 
know me, and as you 
are a friend of my 
brother-in-law, you will 
perhaps consider it your 
duty to inform him of 
the facts with which you 
have just become ac- 
quainted ? " 

" Marquis, may I re- 
mind you that I have 
been a French soldier, 
and as such have learnt 
the meaning of the word 
* honour ' ? I have acci- 
dentally overheard your 
conversation, and as the 
thing cannot now be 
altered, it seems to me 
useless to Stand here and 
insult each other. As 
a friend of the De 
Nervals, Marquis, I can- 
not be indifferent to any- 
thing which touches 
them. I do not ask you 
from motives of curiosity, 
but on account of my 
friendship for them. Will 
you tell me what you 
purpose doing ? " 

The Marquis came 
near to the fire, and 
leaning his elbow on the chimney-piece and 
playing idly with the piece of paper in his hand, 
he looked steadily at Raoul and replied : — 

"I purpose shooting myself." 

Raoul started, and for a second a feeling 
of triumph, almost of satisfaction, flashed 
through his mind. Here was his successful 
rival, Rente's ideal, disgraced, dishonoured, 
and she would soon know that for the last 
twelve months his life had been one long lie. 
Ren^e would be free again, and perhaps after 
all He did not let himself finish his re- 
flections, and a flash of indignant scorn at the 
baseness of such thoughts gleamed for a 
moment in his eyes. 

The Marquis, who was looking at him, 
saw it and said, sarcastically : — 

''You think suicide despicable, eh, my 
young friend ? Believe me, it needs some 
courage when one has ties — and no religion, 
no faith, no belief whatever in another life : 
when one thinks that the adieu once said to 

those one loves is not au 
farewell for 



The Marquis spoke 
bitterly, and Raoul knew 
he was thinking of Ren^e. 
u There must be some 
other course open to you, 

" There is none. Be- 
lieve me, I have thought 
the problem well out, 
although until to-day I 
■ , ! not know the amount 
It has gone on increasing, 
and I have trusted to 
winning and so paying it 
>ack ; but my luck has 
eft me, and the figures 
remain. They have 
robbed me, these cursed 
money - lenders, and I 
believe my friend 
■•^ is in league with 
them. Look at the 
figures, since you 
know the rest" 

Raoul glanced at 
the paper. The 
amount was indeed 

"But, Victor? 
He would do all in 
his pow T er." 

" I shall not ask 
him, I know he 
would do what he 
could, and he will have to do it later 
on for my wife. This, however, is quite 
beyond his means, He and my wife have 
given all they could for la he Ik France. The 
whole of this money would have to be here 
on Saturday, or the thing is public, I have 
borrowed everywhere I can through my 
famous friend Georges, and now this bill is 
the amount of all my debts which this 
precious money-lender undertook to clear 
for me ; so that I am entirely in his hands, 
You see, it is hopeless." 

* But vour shooting yourself will not pay 
the debt" 

"It will prevent my explaining all to my wife-" 

u And her grief " 

<£ For my death will be less than her grief 
for my dishonour* I could not meet her 
when she knows. I am not a coward. I 
faced the shells during the siege and I faced 
the Communists after, but my wife's grief I 
amid not face— you donf'fcnow Renee." 






"I do, Marquis." 

There was something in Raoul's voice 
which made the Marquis look at him ques- 
tioningly, and he continued, smiling bitterly : 
" You forget, I knew her before you did, aye, 
and I loved her, too, before you did." 

The Marquis started slightly. 

" Oh, never fear," continued Raoul. " I 
never won her love as you have done — I had 
the misfortune to tell a lie for her sake, and 
she scorned me for it. She refused me and 
despised me. You have had more luck than 
I, for in spite of your twelve months' lying 
you have kept her love. Take care, though, 
for I know your wife. She told me that she 
could never forget; perhaps in that too, 
though, you will have more luck." 

44 1 shall not try the experiment : my reso- 
lution is taken." 

44 And the disgrace to her ?" 

44 Oh, God ! don't taunt me with it. I 
cannot avoid it now. It has to come. 
Whether I am there or not, the disgrace will 
have to fall. If, as I say, the money is not 
there on Saturday, why, there is no help for 
it : the thing is public." 

44 Poor Ren£e ! " burst involuntarily from 
Raoul's lips. 

44 Aye, poor Ren£e !" and the Marquis held 
out his hand to the man to whom, five 
minutes before, he had spoken with such 
withering scorn. 

Raoul grasped it cordially, and the two men 
remained silent for a minute, neither of them 
venturing to speak. They understood each 
other though, and each knew that if there 
were one pure feeling in the other's heart, it 
was that of reverence for the woman they 
both loved. At last, the Marquis, looking 
full at Raoul, said, with a feeble attempt at a 
smile : 44 It is too late for me to be jealous 
now," and then he added, earnestly : 44 Tell 
her, after Saturday, that my last prayer 
was not for God's forgiveness, but for hers. 
Tell her I shot myself because I thought 
she would think more mercifully of 
me dead than living. Tell her that, what- 
ever have been my shortcomings, my love for 
her has been pure and true ; and listen " — the 
Marquis stepped nearer to Raoul — 44 this is the 
hardest thing of all for me to say. You love 
her and have always loved her ; she admires 
you perhaps more than she does any man. 
Try again and win her love and give her 
your name as soon as possible — that she may 
not have to bear the disgrace of mine." 

The temptation for a moment was terrible, 
but only for a "moment, then Raoul's mind 
was made up. He had laughed a year ago 

when talking to Victor at the idea of falling 
in love a second time with Ren£e. He had 
seen a great deal of her during the past 
twelve months, and he had found out that 
the love of his boyhood had never died away, 
and that he loved her now with all the 
strength and passion of his manhood. 

He loved her, though, too well to allow a 
shadow of disgrace to fall upon her, a dis- 
grace which he knew would be to her proud 
nature terrible to bear. The thought of 
helping her, of consoling her, of being near 
her in her trouble was very tempting, but he 
put it away from him sternly as unworthy, 
because of its very selfishness. 

There was silence again while Raoul was 
steeling himself for his great sacrifice. At 
last he raised his eyes from the crackling 
wood in the fire-place, and looking steadily 
at the Marquis, said, firmly : — 

44 No, it cannot be. I will not deny that 
I love her. I do, more than my life — and 
with a love that will endure until my death. 
You love her, too, and you have every right 
to, while I have none. Take care of her, 
Marquis, and do not let her suffer disgrace ; 
it would kill her." 

44 Alas ! there is no help for it." 

44 Yes ! there is. On Saturday you shall 
have the money " 

44 What? you " 

44 1 have not spent much," said Raoul, 
briefly, 44 and what I had has accumulated 
I have still my estate in the Midi, which will 
suffice for my future wants. All the rest I 
shall put entirely at your disposal. After 
* our debts are paid you cannot be penniless, 
and " 

44 1 cannot accept this." 

44 Put pride aside," said Raoul, smiling 
sadly, 44 or if it hurts you, why, do not accept 
it. Let me have this one satisfaction in my 
life, I have had so much disappointment. 
Let me feel it is for her." 

44 It is for her, otherwise I could not accept 
it. But, no ! I cannot accept it What 
should you do? You cannot live on 
nothing ! " 

44 1 have the estate, and, besides, I shall go 
back to Africa." 

44 What ! exile yourself for me, a com- 
parative stranger ? " 

44 No, for her," said Raoul, smiling again. 
44 1 shall join the exploring expedition which 
starts next week." 

44 1 don't know which of the two alterna- 
tives is the harder to accept," said the 
Marquis, bitterlv, 

ufe^m^7ta^r de ' which isa 



harder thing to do sometimes than to sacrifice 
one's life. But you must remember that it is 
for her, and that after all you are giving me 
the only real happiness I have had for ten 
long years." 

The Marquis pressed Raoul's outstretched 
hand in both of his, and said, while tears 
rolled down his cheeks : " God reward you 
for saving my honour, and with it my Rente's 
peace of mind. I ought to say our Ren£e, 
for you have saved her from what to her 
would be far worse than death. Oh ! but it 
is hard on you, to exile yourself just in the 
prime of your life. I cannot thank you, 
words are too feeble. What can I say ? " 

" Nothing," said Raoul, trying to smile. 
Soon after, the two men went out together 
and strolled arm in arm up the Champs 
Elysdes, as far as the Avenue du Bois, where 
the Marquis lived. 

Raoul hailed a cab afterwards and drove 
home to his luxurious apartments, where he 
spent the night arranging his papers, for he 
was too excited to sleep until the dawn began 
to break. He threw himself on his bed then, 
exhausted with conflicting emotions. 


It was the " Jour des Morts " in Paris, and 
rich and poor, old and young, were all 
on the way to the cemetery, carrying with 
them their tribute of flowers to offer to their 
dead. At the gate of Montmartre Cemetery 
there was such a crowd, that everyone had to 
wait some time before they could get through 
the entrance. 

A distinguished-looking man of some 
thirty-eight or forty years of age, who had 
been idly following the crowd, turned into 
the cemetery and strolled along, stopping 
from time to time to watch some little family 
group, or to admire some tastefully-arranged 
flowers or read an inscription on a tomb. 

He wandered up and down the various 
walks, apparently having no aim or object in 
his visit to the cemetery. Suddenly an idea 
seemed to strike him, for he turned round 
and walked quickly along in an opposite 
direction, until he came to a magnificent 
tomb with a little chapel in marble. There 
was a fresh wreath, which had evidently only 
just been brought and laid at the door of 
this chapel, and stepping nearer and kneeling 
down, he read the inscription on the wreath. 
" To my husband," were the words he read, 
and then, getting up, he went round to the 
other side of the tomb, where he saw a name 
carved on the stone with the date of two 
years before. 

It was very evident that the name was 
known to him, for involuntarily he took off his 
hat, and stood there with bowed head, lost in 
thought, until the sound of children's voices 
near recalled him to himself, and he walked 
on again towards the gateway of the cemetery. 

Before going away he stood for a moment 
near the opening that leads to the common 
grave, and which is marked by a high cross. 
It is just a simple cross rising from a grassy 
mound, and rich and poor meet here together 
to bring their flowers, in memory of those 
whose graves are, perhaps, in distant lands, or, 
perhaps, in the deep sea. The wreaths are 
very soon piled up yards high, and there are 
flowers of all kinds, from the delicate hot- 
house blossoms to the humble little penny 
bunch of violets, which, perhaps, some poor, 
hard-working mother has brought in memory 
of her dead soldier-son. 

The traveller (for one could see from the 
bronzed complexion of the strongly - built 
man that he had come from a sunnier 
country) stood again here to w r atch the 
various people offering up their flowers, 
when, suddenly, a lady dressed in black, 
and accompanied ,by an officer of some forty 
years of age, emerged from one of the by- 
paths and passed through the little opening 
to the common grave. The lady was carrying 
an exquisite cross made of violets and white 
flowers. The man who was watching saw her 
press it for a moment to her lips, and then 
placing it gently on the other flowers she 
knelt down and closed her eyes for a moment 
in prayer. The officer stood behind her, 
bareheaded, and an expression of intense 
sorrow was on his handsome face. 

The man who was watching stood back be- 
hind a tree until they had moved away, then he 
stepped forward, and, going close to the cross, 
he read the inscription on the flowers just 
deposited there. What he saw was just one 
word in a woman's handwriting on a black- 
edged card, and the word was a man's name : 
" Raoul." He stood for a moment like one 
in a dream, and then he hurried after the 
officer and the lady he had just been watching. 
He overtook them in a lonely avenue, which 
they had taken evidently to avoid the crowd, 
for the lady was leaning on the officer's arm, 
and they were both very silent and evidently 
very much moved. 

When the man who was following them 
was near enough he just said " Victor ! " and 
the officer, starting, turned round, gazed 
earnestly at the stranger, and then, stepping 
forward, took both his hands in his, exclaim- 
ing " Raoul ! " 




As for the lady, she stepped back and 
looked at the new-comer with an almost 
terrified gaze ; then, turning deadly white 
and trembling all over, so that her brother 
put his arms round her for support, she 
said :— 

" Oh, Raoul, we thought you went dead ! " 

ih No ; I am very much alive, you see, and 
more and more like a coffee-berry." 

" But we heard nothing of you, nothing, 
nothing, 3 ' she murmured, reproachfully; "and 
you had said you would write if you were 
alive in five years," 

"Who told you that?" asked Raoul, 

" My husband/' replied Ren^e, the colour 
coming back to her cheeks, 

There was silence for a moment, and then 
she continued, " Raoul, I know alL I cannot 
thank you, for it was too much for thanks," 

"But why were you told ? " 

H Don't talk of it all now, and here," 


interrupted Victor, t£ Come back with us, 
Raoul j to dinner, and we can tell you all this 
evening afterwards," 

It was to Victors home that they went, 
for on the death of the Marquis de Gramont 
Remfe had gone back to live with her 
brother, giving up her luxuries, retiring from 
society, and living henceforth a very quiet 

" It had been entirely a love match," the 
world had said, with its usual perspicacity, 
"and the poor young Marquise de Gramont 
will never get over her grief for her husband." 
After dinner, when all three were sitting 
together, with the lamps throwing their rosy 
shade over the whole room and the fire 
crackling in the fire-place, for November 
had announced itself in a cold, chilly way, 
Renee heg:in again the subject she had 
touched on in the cemetery. 

" Raoul, my husband told me everything 
when he was on his death-bed. He died 
from the effects of a fall from his horse 
when riding in the Bois," 

There was silence for a minute, then 
Rami] said, quietly: "It was a pity 
that he told you." 

"No! it was right I should 
know, Raoul, can you ever for- 
give me ? n 

" I — I have nothing to forgive ! 
What do you mean, Renee ? " 

" I mean that in those old 
days I dared to reproach you, I 
dared to scorn the love of a 
man, whose equal I believe now, 
Raoul, has never lived- I learned 
to appreciate you, learned it by 
.i terrible lesson, and by com- 
paring you with the other men I 
met. Oh, Raoul! believe me, my 
remorse has been terrible, but I 
have been punished, for I have 
been humiliated to the very dust," 
i,nd Rcnees eyes shone while 
her lips quivered 

4t But you were so happy, 
Renee, when I was here last, 
and you might have gone on 
being so if only no one had 
told you," 

"You thought I was happy? 
No, I was then living one 
long, long lie, I thought I 
loved my husband when I 
married, but very soon I 
found out that I had made 




me, though, to the very last, and I, at first, 
through pride, and later on for a better and 
more unselfish motive, went on appearing 
happy. I deceived the world and my husband. 
Victor only understood, and consequently 
only Victor knows how great my punishment 
has been." 

Her brother, who was sitting near her, took 
her hand in his and said : " Ren£e, don't 
dwell on all this, child. Raoul forgave you 
years ago. Let bygones be bygones. 
Raoul is too old a friend to imagine that we 
could be ungrateful. He knows that you 
and I thank him from the depths of our 
hearts. Now try and make his evening a 
little pleasanter, or he'll be sorry he came," 
and the brother drew the beautiful face nearer 
and kissed the fair white forehead. 

"Yes, I am indeed a bad hostess," said 
Ren£e, and then, getting up, she walked 
across to Raoul, who stood up as she 
approached, and putting both her hands into 
his, she said : "I won't thank you, then, 
Raoul," but she looked up into his eyes 
with her own beautiful ones full of tears, 
and then, hastening out of the room, she left 
the two men alone. 

They had a long explanation then, Raoul 
asking all the questions he had been 
wishing to. 

" Poor Ren£e ! " said Victor. " I should 
say never did a girl have so happy a beginning 
or a woman so hard an ending." 

" Why did he tell her about it ? " 

11 He was dying, and you remember you 
had told him that if you were alive in five 
years, you would write. No letters came, 
and so we all thought you were dead. Why 
didn't you write, though, Raoul ? " 

" I thought it was better not. I wanted to 
forget and be forgotten. You know the weak 
spot has been there all my life." 

"Is it there still?" 

" Yes, I gave up years ago trying to crush 
it .out of my life." 

" That's right. Oh, Raoul, if you do still 
love her, why should you not even now be 
happy, both of you ? " 

" You forget, Victor," said Raoul, lifting 
his head with a proud movement 

" No, I don't forget; but, Raoul, you surely 
won't let pride stand in the way now ? You 
own that you have always loved her. You 
haven't a soul on earth in the way of a rela- 
tion : why should you wish to be solitary to 
the end?" 

" I am used to it now," said Raoul, wearily, 
"and then, too," he added, "she might 
refuse me again. She is grateful now, but I 
don't want gratitude." 

At this moment the door opened and 
Ren£e re-appeared. "I am a bad hostess," 
she said, " to leave my guest like this," and 
she moved forward and took her seat again on 
the low arm-chair in front of the fire. Her 
eyes showed signs of tears, and her voice was 
not very firm. Raoul, who had risen as she 
came in, thinking to intercept her passage, 
stood before her, and looking down into the 
sweet, refined face, said : " Ren£e, if I asked 
you the same question I asked you years ago at 
Nerval, would you give me the same answer? 
Will you take me now, Ren£e, a worn-out 
old traveller ? " 

" Oh ! Raoul," said she, rising, " then you 
have forgiven me, quite, quite?" looking 
pleadingly up into his dark, handsome eyes. 

" No, not quite," he said, smiling, " because 
I have missed so many years with you," and 
then, taking her in his arms, he kissed her 
beautiful hair and her eyes still wet with 

" It seems to me that you forget I am 
here," remarked Victor, standing up and 
poking the fire into a fresh blaze. 

" No, we don't," said Ren£e. " Kiss me, 
too, Victor ; you have been so good to me 
all my life. You have always taken care of 

"Simply out of consideration to my old 
friend," said her brother, laying his hand on 
Raoul's shoulder. " When he went off to 
Africa that first time, his last words to me as 
I stood on the platform were : k Take care of 
her ! ' " 

" Were they, really?" asked Ren£e, looking 
up at Raoul with very misty eyes. 

"I believe they were," answered Raoul, 
laughing; "and now, Victor and I will go 
shares for the future in taking care of you." 

by Google 

Original from 

H.R.H. The Duchess of Albany* 

By Mary Spencer4Varren. 

(With the special permission and approval of H.R.H. the 
Duchess vf Albany. ) 


From a PhotQ. ky tinnn & StuarL 

EARCII where you will, you 
will not readily find a quieter 
and prettier spot than Clare- 
niunt : right away from busy 
town or noisy railway, having 
its approach through a sleepy, 
quaint old village, that carries one back 
to the days of our great -grandmothers, 
when the one event of the day was the 
dashing through of the stage coach with its 
team of spanking greys, and its red-coated 
guard with his merry horn. And so little 
have things altered there with the march 
of civilization, that I feel almost as though 
I have taken a leap backwards, for there 
on the green stands a stage coach ; there 
is " mine host " at the door of a real old 
country inn, and here are the little cottages, 
with the women in white caps and aprons 
looking out of the doors, the ducks and fowls, 
and all the usual sights of a quiet hamlet 

A little farther on, and I drive through 
some handsome gates — swung open by a 
keeper in the Queen's scarlet — on past the 
pretty lodge, past the farm buildings, the 
obelisk, the entrances to stables and gardens, 
and on up the smooth drive, to alight in 
front of the mansion. 

It is a place with many interesting asso- 
ciations, both romantic and saddening. Here 
kings, queens, princes, and nobles have lived 
their various lives ; some chequered and dis- 
appointed ones, while for others there have 
been seasons of unalloyed happiness ; but 
this is to anticipate. 

Louis Philippe and Marie Amelie found 

shelter here for many years, shorn of crown 
and devoid of kingdom, to die amongst the 
people with whom they had found a " city of 

Meanwhile, our beloved Queen — then the 
Princess Victoria -had often stayed here; 
had played in the rooms, and on terrace and 
lawn ; and in the grounds had taken her first 
lessons in sketching from Nature. At a later 
epoch in her life she came again, this time 
with husband and children, and as she 
watched the latter at play, lived her young 
life over again. 

Then one of the children, the Princess 
Louise, comes here for a quiet retreat after 
the State wedding at Windsor ; and still later, 
the youngest, Prince Leopold, brings his 
bride here to her home. 

It would only be painful to dwell on the 
sorrow that so soon cast its shadow over this 
happy household \ rather let us rejoice that 
the Royal widow is not left alone. Consola- 
tion is accorded in children's happy voices 
ringing through house and grounds, their 
presence bringing sunshine and dispelling 

Just as I am about to mount the steps, the 
two children rush down, laden with barrows 
and dolls, for their morning gambols on the 
grass. The little Duke waves his hat, in 
response to my greeting, as he flies over the 
terraces, closely followed by his sister j and 
I stand a minute or two watching them, and 
right happy-looking children they are, near 
enough of an age to be real playmates, and 
to thoroughly enjoy each other's society* 

L ■ IV ER'i-l T Y ■ JF ?-'.! C H IG A N 




/■"nun> a Pktitn. by Gunn tf Stuart. 

Standing thus at the summit of the hill, 
and the foot of the broad flight of steps, 
from which a good view of the Surrey Hills 
and the Epsom Downs is obtained, the 
mansion appears to be about the centre of 
the park. It is an oblong, square building ; 
brick, with stone dressings, fronted with a 
Corinthian portico, and surmounted with a 
pediment containing the Clive arms carved 
in the centre ; for here, during some time, 
Lord Clive passed a most misanthropic 
existence. From this portico I step 
through the half-glass doors direct into 
the entrance - hall : a spacious and lofty 
apartment supported with columns of scagliola 
marble, having an oblong ceiling decorated 

with plaster relief, and walls panelled in 
devices of low-relief. The floor — a marble one 
— has an oblong centre corresponding with the 
roof. In the middle of the hall stands a fine 
billiard table, placed there by the late Duke, 
which is kept covered with a very handsome 
hand-worked cloth* A row of well-cushioned 
basket chairs faces the entrance, making a 
cool and comfortable lounge on a summer's 
day, China vases containing palms, carved 
antique chairs and tables, swan screens, 
Oriental hanging lamps, busts, portraits, 
bronzes, and other objects of interest abound; 
while over by the marble fireplace is some- 
thing much treasured by the little Duke, 
namely, a suit of annour sent him by his aunt, 




t'Tiitn a J'iurta. ftf J 

ill] HA 1. 1., 

the Queen Regent of Holland. Certainly it 
looks a little ponderous for His Royal High- 
ness at present, but perhaps he will fill it 
better a little later, and a gay figure he will 
cut with helmet and flowing white plumes. 
In this hall 1 was present at quite a merry 
and happy family scene. The Duchess had 
graciously pro- 
mised me special 
sittings of herself 
and children for 
The Strand 
Magazine, and so 
a corner was fitted 
up for the occa- 
sion and here the 
three grouped 
themselves in front 
of the camera, 
groups evidently 
being preferable to 
the Duchess ; in- 
deed, as she re- 
marked, M she was 
seldo-m without 
her children, and 
liked all to be 
photographed to- 
gether," This 
photograph is the 
one here repro- 

One can see at 

Vol ix.--3. 

a glance what a 
true mother Her 
Royal Highness 
is, and how the 
children adore 
her; and who 
could help smiling 
when they popped 
their happy laces 
round the screen 
with the evident 
intention of 
making their 
mother laugh 
when she was 
being taken alone, 
or when they 
shouted with 
laughter when the 
entire group 
nearly subsided, 
on a support in 
the rear being 
moved? But the 
portrait- taking is 
at an end, and so we will proceed to view the 

Many doors open from the hall ; the first 
I use is that leading to the library. Its 
electric blue walls are well lined with lettered 
bookcases containing much sound English 
literature ; and on either side of the fireplace 


Frw a Phrto. fc|rj 


THE LIBRARY. iQunn *t £fhdrt 




is a splendid piece of tapestry from the 
Windsor School, of which the late Duke of 
Albany was President; these Her Royal 
Highness herself pointed cut to me as being 
quite of the best specimens the school had 
turned out. Some massive side-tables are 
also laden with books j and on a little table 
near the fire I note some scholastic works, 
with places marked for lessons to be presently 
imparted to the Duke by a tutor. Over at 
one side stands a French piano, which you 
can either manipulate in the ordinary way, 
or by turning a handle ; just a huge source 
of delight to children, and the evidences of 
children are in every room at Claremont. I 
once heard it said that the entire place is like 
a mausoleum to the late Princess Charlotte; 
well, there are certainly many reminders of 
that lady ; but what I chiefly noticed was 
w something for the little ones," whichever 
way I turned. 

On an easel you may observe a good 
portrait of the late Duke, and on the top of 
the bookcases are several busts of Royal 
personages* Various wr i t i ng - ta bl es hold 
framed portraits, books of views, etc The 
floor is carpeted in Turkish, the windows 
handsomely curtained in crimson and drab, 
the furniture being the usual leather-covered. 

Next I go to the inner hall : from here 
the staircase opens, thus it is effectively 
lighted direct from the roof of the building. 
It has a good marble floor, plentifully 
scattered with Persian rugs, and here and 

Prom a Photo, bp} 


there stands and baskets of choice palms and 
lilies, A magnificent specimen of wood carving 
is here to be seen in a table and cabinet, 
a wedding present from the Queen of 
Roumania. On the wall facing the entrance 
is a painting by Titian of Philip II. of Spain, 
on the left stands a large cabinet of beautiful 
china, while opposite is another mechanical 
piano, having its handle at a particularly con- 
venient and inviting place for little folks. I 
had a turn myself, but it responded so loudly 
that I let go quickly in sheer self-defence. If 
you study the photograph here introduced, 
you will notice some exquisite sculptured 
work* A "mural decoration" by Williamson, 
a sculptor who resides at Esher, has much of 
his work at Claremont, and has perhaps had 
more Royal commissions than has fallen to 
the lot of any other member of his profession. 
This particular work is in three divisions, and 
w F as erected in memory of the former residence 
of the Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold. 
The middle tablet typifies their life there, 
having representation of aid to the widows and 
orphans, and underneath an inscription, 4 * They 
visited the fatherless arid widow's in their 
affliction," The tablet on the left represents 
the apotheosis of the wife, the inscription 
being, u Sorrow not as a man without hope, 
for her who sleeps in Jesus*" On the right 
we see the crown of Belgium offered to the 
Prince, with the words underneath, "Seek 
the Kingdom of (Jod, and all these things 
shall be added unto you." A little higher 

up the staircase is 
a bust by Sir Edgar 
Boehm of the 
Princess Louise, 
Marchioness of 
Lorne; it is a 
speaking likeness, 
and a fine example 
of delicacy of de- 
tail The columns 
and pilasters of 
Siena marble give 
a solid and costly 
appearance to a 
staircase that is 
exceptionally fine* 

In one corner is 
a door opening to 
the dining - room, 
where your atten- 
tion is immediately 
attracted to the 
number of grand 
works in oil adorn- 
ing the walls. Some 



[ (rutin £ Stuart 

' Original from 


T 9 

Fnttn it J'hutti. bu\ 

1 UK DLMMi-hlhlM 

[ff"u»n d: iiiuart- 

of them are full length, one being Her Majesty 
the Queen : on one sick of her the Prince 
Ix:opold of Saxe-Coburg in uniform, and on 
the other the Princess Charlotte in high- 
waisted black velvet, rufifs and puffings of 
white satin, with her light brown hair 
dressed in coils on the top. Other paint- 
ings in the room are George III,, the 
Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, the Prince 
Consort, the Duchess of Kent, and the 
Princess Victoria (seemingly not more 
than three years of age), one or two land- 
scapeSj etc. The room is of splendid pro- 
portions, and the really good-sized dining- 
table, standing at one end, looks quite tiny. 
It has a well executed cream ceiling, an old 
oaken floor, covered in the centre with a 
Turkey carpet, crimson curtains, and a 
crimson leather-covered suite of furniture* 
There are some massive marble-topped side- 
tables, with rare china vases on them, on 
one being also a marble bust of Her Majesty 
the Queen, presented to the infant Duke 
in 1884, 

On the walls may also be seen some fine 
old china and some quaint pieces of armour 
Various busts, bronze figures, and other 
curios are scattered here and there, one of 
which is a Kaffir " jowala " bowl, a present 
to the late Duke, Then there are some more 

things, which are not generally recognised as 
dining-room furniture, namely, a Punch-and- 
Judy show, with any amount of puppets, a 
monster toy elephant, and two rocking- 
horses, To oil intents and purposes, this is 
a spacious and warm playground for bad 
weather. Over near the marble mantel is a 
curious and antiquated-looking caned screen, 
filled with photographs, chiefly of Royalty, 
most of them being of a period remote enough 
to make them a quaint and interesting study, 
both for tin; dresses and the photography. 

The drawing-room contains very many 
things over which one is disposed to linger. 
Some have histories : the carpet, for instance, 
an Eastern one of nondescript pattern* blue 
and pink. It was taken from some Indian 
Princes by Lord dive, who brought it over 
to put in the new mansion he purposed to 
build. It was not the shape and size for r« 
room of ordinary appearance, and far too 
costly to cut up, but conquerors of countries 
are not to be beaten by a carpet ! So when 
the house was put up, a room was specially 
constructed for it. So, instead of making a 
carpet for a room, a room was built for a 
carpet! Unique, /thought; at any rate, I 
have never met with a similar instance. 

Then tfrfl]E$jrii§| froPfft nCJ ) which is worth 



It was constructed in 1 817, by John 11 road- 
wood and Sons, for H.R.H. the Princess 
Charlotte of Wales, and was renovated in 
1874 by command of the Queen. Having 
very much the appearance of the ancient 
harpsichord, it has a beautiful silvery tone 
and clear, delicate expression. The marble 
mantelpiece is most exquisitely carved, and 
said to he worth over ^i t ooo t on either side 
of it standing some large and almost price- 
less vases also brought from India by Lord 
Give, There are some choice old cabinets 
in various parts of the room ; two of 
them are Indian ones. 

There are some fine paintings on the silk 
brocaded walls, notably one each of the late 
Duke and the Duchess. On an easel stands 

strawberry (hand-embroidered), and gold and 
tapestry, with hangings of plush and silk 
to match ; some costly miniatures, some 
rare old china, a framed copy of the 
signatures to the Berlin Treaty, and (the 
children [again) an assortment of valuable 
mechanical toys are all good to he hold ; 
as is the pale blue and cream "Adams" 
decoration of ceiling and fresco. One 
chair in the room I must make special 
mention of; it is a chef d\?uvre from the 
before-noted Windsor School of Tapestry, 
has a perfect picture in silk of Windsor 
Castle on it, was made specially for, and 
presented to, the President on his marriage. 

Next comes the Duchess's boudoir. I 
shall always have a vivid recollection of this 

one of the Princess Louise, Marchioness of 
Lome, by Richmond. On pedestals are some 
valuable bronze vases, and on buhl and 
other tables are many pieces of bijouterie, 
some books, busts, and framed portraits ; one 
frame contains 4 * Arolsen," the early home 
of the Duchess; and a folding leather case 
near has in it no fewer than twenty -four 
portraits of the late Duke —from earliest 
childhood until nearly the close of his life. 
Three or four very handsome screens one 
or two hand-painted ; furniture of gold and 

I I7.4I.UJ rl StUtilL 

room, for I spent some considerable time 
there : one day having a quiet look round, 
and another day being graciously received 
by Her Royal Highness, who favoured me 
with some considerable portion of her time, 
looking over some ] photographs I had of the 
Royal Palaces of the Queen of Holland 
(you remember that the Queen Regent and 
the Duchess of Albany are sisters), talking 
of magazines and journals, and those who 
write for them,, and arranging for the promised 
sittings, etc I hrae no intention of enlarging 




upon the appearance or manner of the 
Duchess ; everybody knows how kind and 
amiable she is, because they hear it so often ; 
and 1 should imagine that she must get just 
as tired of the class of writers who con- 

sorts, most of them being of great value. 
The prevailing decorative tones are cream, 
gold, and ruby, presenting a very effective 
whole, the ruby being introduced in panels, 
on which some costly china is effectively 

Frvto. (■ PJMo. *tf 



tinunlly laud her amiability as she is with the 
opposite faction, who contribute to some of 
the society papers gossip which is as un- 
dignified as it is untrue. If I tell you 
lvhat chiefly impressed me respecting the 
Duchess, it is the fact of what a model 
mother she is. 

You cannot be in the house long without 
noticing how she loves and cares for her 
children, and how closely she watches over 
their welfare: not indulgence — but firm kind- 
ness ; and how those children do respond 
to it ! What perfect sympathy there seems 
to be between them alL The eldest one, 
the Princess Alice, looks to be robust ; she 
has pleasing ways, and bears a wonderful 
likeness to our Royal Family. Her Royal 
Highness is now eleven years of age, 
her brother (the Duke) being nine. He 
is a bright, cheerful boy, with a clever- 
loolting face, and just as brimful of 
fun as boys generally are. 

As you will see in the photograph, the 
boudoir is very full of knick-knacks of divers 

displayed. On the walls are several of 
Winterhalter's paintings, chiefly of the Royal 
Family ; and in various parts of the 
room are busts, chiefly by Williamson. 
There are some well-filled bookshelves of 
English and French literature, the works of 
well-known authors : a careful selection of 
rrther dee]) reading; but the room was 
formerly the sitting-room of the late Duke, 
and it is not necessary for me to say one 
word of the literary abilities and qualifications 
of the most scholarly of the Queen's sons. 
Evidently the Duchess has similar tastes, for 
I notice a ponderous and abstruse work 
lying beside the chair from which she has 
just risen. 

In the centre of the bookshelves is a 
glass- fronted cupboard, full of rare old 
china, much of it having been wedding 
presents. One service of Sfevres I particularly 
noticed, given by the Earl and Countess 
Beauchamp, I should not like to have to 
tell you how many photographs there are in 
the room ; but it is the same in every Royal 




house, photographs shower in from all 
directions. O? course, the family faces pre- 
dominate on both sides. 

Here is a basket that might very well be 
labelled " Spare moments," for that is just 
what it represents : it is full of various 
articles in process of knitting ; is taken up 
ever}- odd moment, and grows to an astonish- 
ing amount in a very little time. Busy and 
active fingers has the Duchess, and I am 
told by one of the ladies of the household 
how articles are knitted for the " Guild," and 
how complete outfits are made for young 
girls just going out into life, how weekly 
working meetings are held in the library, and 
how, when the periodical collection of Guild 
work comes on, 
the Duchess works 
from early morn- 
ing until late at 
night, sorting, 
labelling, packing, 
and doing the 
hundred and one 
duties that the 
work brings day 
after day, with a 
cheerful word and 
a smiling face for 

Near at hand is 
a Brinsmead 
piano, where re- 
creation or prac- 
tice can go on, 
and over in a 
corner is an easel 
holding a drawing 
just commenced 
by the Princess 
Alice. The very 
handsome writing- ***»« a j-fo/u. m 

table in the centre 

■ — a wedding present to the late Duke from the 
residents of Boyton Manor — has on it, amongst 
other things, a fine statuary group, a gold 
battered bowl from the Queen, and a china 
dish from an old nurse. Under one of the 
windows is a glass case containing many 
curios, gold caskets, gold keys, and a gold 
nurdal omr of twelve, ten of which were 
silver — struck in commemoration of the 
decapitation of Charles L 

The school-room is next, and a delightful 
apartment it is a ceiling richly decorated in 
cream and gold, and walls in electric blue 
brocade of fern-leaf pattern, these having on 
them some family portraits, some 1a id sea pes, 
some antique pieces of armour, and some old 

china, Busts of the late Emperor Frederick 
of Germany and the Grand Duchess of 
Hesse stand in arched recesses, while 
numerous portraits of the Royal children, and 
their cousin, the Queen of the Netherlands, 
may be seen in various directions. One 
is especially striking : it is the little Duke 
in the uniform of his father's regiment, 
handsomely framed, standing on a table in 
the foreground. Globes, maps, writing-tables, 
patent desks and seats, and all the usual 
school books are well to the fore ; while 
flags, bats, balls, etc., are plentiful — in fact, 
one corner of the room is a perfect toy store, 
called, I believe, "Toy Corner": there is quite 
a wonderful arrangement of them, of every 


I'r'inmC Stiturt. 

shape, sort, and size conceivable. Then 
there are flowers, ferns, and singing birds in 
their cages, making the place look particularly 
bright and cheerful, and very unlike the abode 
of dreariness that distinguishes some school- 
rooms. The presiding genius of the room is 
Miss Potts, a pleasant-faced, practical lady, 
with whom I enjoyed one or two brief chats. 
This is the apartment in which the Princess 
Charlotte died, and it was quite undisturbed, 
and shut up, for some considerable time after 
that sad event. 

Now I walk through some of the dressing 
and bed-rooms, those that are on the ground 
floor. They are all much of a muchness for 
decoration and fittings. Here is a picture of 




(Cxuha it Stauri. 

the dressing-room of Her Royal Highness 
the Duchess. It is very effectively decorated, 
ceiling and fresco in cream and gold, with 
walls of pink and gold. The furniture is 
white- wood with hand -painting and brass 
mounts. On the walls are some family 
likenesses and some modern pictures, on 
the floor a rich red carpet* A good bust of 
the late Duke stands on the chest of drawers, 
the dressing-table showing a French time- 
piece, some silver-mounted glass, and an 
abundance of choice flowers. The Duchess 
is very fond of flowers, and has plenty of them 
all over the house. 

Opening from here is the bedroom, 
decorated in the same style. The wardrobe 
shows some very beautiful painted panels, 
and is surmounted with the crown and 
banners. On one side of the room is the 
small bed used by the Princess Alice, 
who, I was told, had slept in the same 
room as the Duchess ever since some 
burglars had selected Claremont for a 
Christmas raid. It seems they had planted 
a ladder against an upstairs window, and had 
actually entered a room where the children 
were. They, being then very little, and firm 
believers in the " Santa Claus " visits peculiar 
to the season, were not at all alarmed : 
thought, no doubt, that was the proper 
entrance for strangers, who might be fairies 
in disguise. Fortunately a servant appeared, 
who estimated Mr- William Sikes at his 

proper value, gave 
the alarm, and 
the downward 
journey on the 
ladder was quicker 
than the upward 

The Duke's 
dressing and bed- 
rooms are near at 
hand, and 1 first 
go through them 
and note the 
general effect, 
which is plain 
though good ; and 
then I go upstairs 
to the suite of 
apartments known 
as the Queen's 
Rooms. They are 
very quietly fur- 
nished, much more 
so than the rooms 
of thousands of 
Her Majesty's 
subjects : plain plaster ceilings, with walls 
papered in grey and blue, on them being 
many prints and engravings, family portraits, 
and horses and dogs that were favourites 
of the Queen, Over one mantelpiece 
is one of Landseer's best In the sitting- 
room some of the furniture is gold bur- 
nished or mahogany frame with upholstery of 
plush or tapestry with floral needlework. One 
of John Broad wood's pianos stands at one 
side, an old favourite, used times and often 
by Her Majesty and the Prince Consort In 
front of the fircjilace is a rich needlework 
screen, and over against one of the windows 
is a line specimen of painted insects on 
porcelain, intersected with pressed ferns. 
The prevailing fittings of the entire suite of 
rooms are rosewood, and green and white 
chintz; all the Brussels carpets being the 
same colour ground -work, with fern -leaf and 
floral design. 

There now only remain two other rooms 
to see — the Princess Beatrice's bedroom, and 
one of the visitors' rooms — as a type of a 
suite of such. The first room is, if anything, 
the plainer of the two. Plaster ceiling, flock 
pa J >e red walls, green carpet, rosewood furni- 
ture (with chintz covers), an ordinary brass 
bedstead, and chiffbnnier, over which is a 
plain bookcase. 

Before going downstairs, the Duchess 
kindly allows me to see a small room, which 
is called the " Museum/' It is so small that 


= 4 


Frftm a Photo, oyl 


| (jmtn ij - WtUirL 

an adequate photograph is impossible ; but 
contains a great deal that is or much interest 
— articles that are dearly cherished by the 
Duchess. A large carved oak wardrobe with 
sliding panels, and some regimental cases on 
the top, contain the uniforms and guns, swords, 
etc, worn and used by the late Duke ; a glass- 
fronted cupboard has in it various documents 
and books, and a number of walking-sticks 
are arranged above each other on the wall 
near the entrance, Many of these were 
doubtless presents, for I noticed labels at- 
tached, one of them bearing the name of 

Downstairs I walk through the vaulted 
passages and kitchens; then out into the 
magnificent grounds, and over the conserva- 
tories to see the multiplicity of choice 
camellias, orange trees, etc., through the 
acres of flower and kitchen gardens — where 
a special feature is a large number of azaleas — 
and then on to see the Mausoleum. This was 
originally intended for an alcove for the Princess 
Charlotte, commenced during her residence 
by her husband. When she died, he finished 
it in a much more costly manner. It is 

Pointed architecture, the interior having a 
groined ceiling with rich tracery, and 
stained glass windows. One of the 
best views in the grounds is to be 
obtained here : the position is very 
elevated, the lake winding in and out far 
below, giant trees and clusters of rhododen- 
drons interspersed, I must not forget to say 
that the children's gardens are just in front, 
the same wonderful arrangement of plants 
and seeds that little fingers always get ; with 
the same little prim borders marking outline 
and division. While I stand looking I hear 
their young voices in the distance, and 
descry them scampering down the drive 
carrying a birdcage between them, I in- 
wardly wonder if it has an inhabitant, and 
whether, if so, it is accustomed to that shaky 

The first sight I had of Claremont, they 
were in the foreground, and when I leave on 
the last day, I catch sight of their bright 
young faces watching from a window ; and 
my last impressions are, perhaps, more 
particularly of a happy home than they are 
of a stately Royal residence, 

by Google 

Original from 

From Behind the Speaker's Chair, 


(viewed by HENRY W, LUCY,) 

FEW things are more notable 
the in recent Parliamentary history 
closure, than the failure of the Closure. 
When it was introduced by a 
Conservative Government, even those who 
found it convenient to criticise it as an in- 
fringement of the liberty of debate secretly 
recognised in it a benefit cut instrument for 
forwarding business, public and private. Mr. 


W* H< Smith took to its use with remarkable 
avidity. During his leadership, more espe- 
cially in its earlier Sessions, he was, as Mr, 
Tim Healy irreverently put it, ever i( on the 
pounce* H The House soon grew familiar 
with the figure of its esteemed Leader sitting 
forward on the extreme edge of the Treasury 
Bench, with hands on his knees, his eye 
resring anxiously on the face of the Speaker 
or the Chairman of Committees, He waited 
thus till a moment favourable for interpos- 
ing presented itself. Then, rising, he said, 
in a voice hardly raised above reverential 
whisper, ki I move that the question be now 
put. 17 

Vol i* -*, 

Sometimes, not often, the Speaker refused 
to put the question. Whereat there were 
triumphant shouts of derision from the Irish 
camp. Mr. Smith's white teeth gleamed in 
responsive though spasmodic merriment, and 
he subsided for another hour. Then he 
was up again, unabashed by earlier rebuff, 
and, like the importunate widow in Scripture r 
he finally succeeded in bringing a particulai 
episode to a conclusion. 

With the return to power of a Liberal Min- 
istry matters in this respect have distinctly 
changed. The horror of the Constitutional 
Party at the proposal to apply the Closure is 
so genuine and so passionate, that the present 
occupants of the Treasury Bench shrink 
from exciting it save under the greatest pro- 
vocation. What 
was with Mr«W- 
H. Smith not 
even a choleric 
word is with Sir 
William Har- 
rourt flat blas- 
phemy. More- 
over, some 
members on the 
Liberal side 
maintain whilst 
their friends are 
in office that 
objection to the 
Closure they 
expressed when 
in Opposition. 
There are two 
or three sitting 
below the Gang- 
way on the Min- 
isterial side who 
walk out with- 
out voting when 
a division mi 
the Closure is 

As far as I remember, Mr 
whilst leader of the House, 
Closure Gt%igmod,frffirni that 


W.M,KIN F <; f)fT. 

moved the 
in eircum- 




stances of undisguised obstruction. Sir 
William Harcourt is not enamoured of 
the practice, and postpones its adoption 
as long as possible. Last Session the Closure 
was moved only thirty-six times, and of that 
number the Leader of the House was 
responsible for only six applications. Mr. 
John Morley moved it twice ; Mr. Shaw- 
Ixfevre and Mr. Herbert Gardner, in charge 
of Bills, severally on single occasions invoking 
the assistance of the Standing Order. Thus 
in the aggregate Ministers only ten times 
through the Session interfered with the 
object of bringing discussion to a close. 

Of the thirty six motions, twenty 
were made whilst the Speaker 
was in the Chair and sixteen 
: under the presidency of the 
Chairman of Committees. By a 
curious coincidence both right 
hon. gentlemen consented to put 
the question exactly half as many times as it 
was pressed upon them. The Speaker put the 
Closure ten times, and the Chairman of 
Committees eight This proportion of con- 
sent goes a long way towards accounting 
for the gradual disuse of the Closure. 
When a member jumps up to move that the 
question be now put, and the Speaker 
declines to submit the proposal, a snub is 
inflicted the severity of which is not easily 
got over. For a Minister such a repulse is a 
serious matter, and right honourable gentle- 
men on the Treasury Bench invoke the 
Closure only when they are practically certain 
that the Speaker or the Chairman is prepared 
to submit the question. 

That the President for the time being 
should be placed in a position of deciding 
whether the House or the Committee shall 
have the opportunity of saying whether or not 
it has heard enough of the current debate is 
the weak point in the scheme which has pre- 
destined it to failure. This stipulation was 
a concession to the well-meant objection on 
the part of an influential minority to take 
any step that tended to infringe freedom of 
debate. The duty is imposed upon the 
Speaker, but that does not lessen his dislike 
for it, nor incline him to take upon 
himself more responsibility than he can 
avoid. It is understood that the system 
Mr. Peel has laid down for his guidance 
in this matter is not to submit the 
Closure as long as there is shown in any 
quarter of the House a disposition by a 
minority of respectable dimensions to con- 
tinue the debate. This being known, or 
surmised, the control of events is in the 

by L^OOgle 

hands of adroit obstruction. It only requires 
that when one member sits down half-a- 
dozen others shall spring up, eager to catch 
the Speakers eye, and the haplos Minister 
in charge of the Bill knows it would be 
useless for him to move the Closure. 

Mr. Mellor has his plan, which is equally 
effective in minimizing the responsibility cast 
upon the Chair in this matter. The Chairman 
of Committees is understood to hold the view 
that if the leader of the House, or the 
Minister in charge of a Bill, takes upon him- 
self to move the Closure, the Chairman is 
bound forthwith to put the question. With 
private members he may be guided by cir- 
cumstances. These plans, like Trochu's at 
the siege of Paris, are admirable in their way. 
But the nett result is that the Closure has 
practically become a dead letter. 

This panacea from which so 
what is to much was hoped, and which at 
p,l done ? theoutset did passably well, having 
failed, the authorities are be- 
ginning to cast about for some new device. 
The business of the House of Commons 
increases every year, and as Session follows 
Session the inadequateness of the existing 
forms of procedure is demonstrated. When 
Mr. Chamberlain's friends were in office, he, 
going to the point in his usual direct and 
vigorous fashion, propounded a scheme where- 
by a certain specified time should be set apart 
for the discussion of particular stages of Bills, 
and when that was reached a division should 
automatically ensue. In Committee on the 
Irish Home Rule Bill in 1893, and again in 
Committee on the Budget Bill last Session, 
this suggestion was adopted by the Govern- 
ment. In the first case it resulted in the 
famous free fight on the floor of the House. 
In the second Mr. Chamberlain and the Op- 
position generally withdrew in high dudgeon, 
declaring that they would not even be passive 
participants in this attack on freedom of 
debate in the Mother of Parliaments. 

These historical instances are cited to show 
how difficult is the question. There is all 
the difference of viewing it from the Opposi- 
tion Benches and from those on the right 
hand of the Speaker. Nevertheless, the diffi- 
culty will have to be faced, and, probably, 
something will be heard at no distant time 
of a proposition to appoint a Committee re- 
presenting all sections of Party in the House, 
which shall consider Government Bills when 
they are brought in, and decide what number 
of days shall be set aside for successive stages, 
the limit fixed by them, in no case, to be 
overstepped. Another suggestion made is 




that there shall be a limit to the duration of 
speeches. This, at least, has the advantage of 
having been tested in practice, it being the 
only means by which some of the Congresses, 
meeting in various parts of the country, get 
through their work within reasonable time. 

There Is one eccentricity of Par- 
private liamentary procedure that might 
business, well be disposed of whilst 

weightier matters are being fur- 
ther cogitated. In the early days of munici- 
pal activity and private industrial enterprise 
it was found convenient to set aside the first 
half hour of sittings of the House of Com- 
mons on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, 
and Fridays, to consider what is known as 
private business —that is to say, Bills pro- 
moted by corporations, public companies, or 
individuals. As the performance is (or 
should be) perfunctory, since this class of 
legislation comes before the House only 
after it has been thoroughly thrashed out in 
Select Committee, there were no restrictions 
as to the date or order in which promoters 
of private Bills might claim the attention of 
the House of Commons. A private member 
in charge of a measure disestablishing a 
Church, or extending the franchise, is obliged 
to take his chance at the ballot for oppor- 
tunity of furthering his object. He may get 
a favourable position 011 the Order Book, or 
may fix on a date so remote as to preclude 
possibility of his Bill making headway in the 
current Session. But if the object of the 
measure he is concerned for be the making of 
a sewer, the provision 
of a local water supply, 
or the extension of a 
railway, he is abso- 
lutely master of the 
situation. He can put 
it down for any day 
he pleases, and the 
House of Commons 
will be obliged, not 
only to enter upon its 
discussion, but to set 
aside all other business 
till this local question 
has been talked out 
and, if necessary, 
divided upon. 

At present, the 
Speaker takes the chair 
at three o'clock on 
the four days named. 
At half - past three 
public business com- 
mences, the interven- 


Ct* THE ^EAKftt 

ing space having been devoted to private 
Bills, should there he any on the Orders, 
If not, the Speaker sits in the chair, the 
Clerks at the table, the Serjeant-at-Arms 
by the cross-benches, and members hang 
about waiting for the half-hour to strike. 
If, on the other hand, the report stage of a 
private Bill affecting keenly fought interests is 
down, discussion upon it may go on till five 
or six o'clock, or even later, public business, 
meanwhile, being shunted. Last Session the 
progress of the Budget was more than once 
seriously hami>ered by the incursion of a 
private Bill. 

The existing arrangement was well enough 
when private business was limited in amount, 
and the House was content to accept the 
decision of its own Committee to which it 
had referred the inquiry, and which had 
probably spent some weeks in thoroughly 
sifting the matter. Now that a different 
order of things is established, it seems pre- 
posterous that the tyranny of private business 
should be permitted to prevail. 

Since the House of Lords met 
at the end of last Session a 
picturesque presence has vanished. 
No longer will the gaunt figure of Lord 
Denman flit about the corridors of the House 
crowned with a plain-coloured skull cap, 
carrying in one hand a shabby hat, and in 
the other a stout stick. 1 never spoke to 
Lord Denman, though I was, for a long time 
previous to his death,' the recipient of con- 
stant correspondence, written in his school- 
boy band, evidently 
with a very bad pen. 

This incomplete 
personal acquaintance 
began in odd fashion. 
Some years ago I 
wrote in one of the 
monthly magazines an 
article on the House 
of Lords, In the 
course of passing des- 
criptions of peers, I 
alluded to Lord 
Lien man as A( a harm- 
less, elderlygentleman, 
something of the Mr. 
Dick type." This* 
though not exactly 
com p I i me n t a ry , wa s 
not ill-naturedly meant, 
and so greatly pleased 
Lord Denman that he 
wrote to me saying he 
had bought up every" 





available copy of the magazine, and sent them 
to particular friends. One night he took the 
number down to the House and proposed to 
read the article, an opportunity of which, I 
regret to say, their lordships declined to avail 

Looking over some notes made from time 
to time with respect to I,ord Denman + s public 
appearances, I find one of his many letters. 
It is a fair sample of the charming in- 
cohereney of style which suggested the 
reference to Mr, Dick. I do not remember 
what called forth this particular letter, but 
fancy from the context it refers to an occasf jn 
when Lord Denman insisted upon sitting 
with the Law Lords, actually joining in their 
deliberations on some important case, and 
delivering a separate judgment. 

"Dear Mr. Lucy," he writes from the 
Midland Grand Hotel, under date 27th April, 
1888, "I am glad that your journal states, 
even with a sneer, that the House of Lords 
cannot 'even repress me !' In 1884, the day 
of great Demonstration, the proposer of the 
Houses of Parliament said the great use of 
thr. demonstration would be the power to 
create Life Peers, and Dr, Carpenter (who 
died in a bath) and I)r, B. \V, Richard 
should be the first L, R I wish M.D.'s 
were made Hereditary Peers, but even 
Life Peers would find that ' My Lord + is ex- 
pected to contribute to a great many charities 
and public objects. 

" The 3 Life Peers might be Ld, C. Justices 
of C. P. in England and Ireland and L. C. 
Baron in England. There are 8 hereditary 
Law Lords — 2 ex-Chancellors boqnd to 

attend — L. Selborne, Hersehell, B ram well, 
Esher, Coleridge, Moncreiffe, Hobhouse, 

(1 1 wish the Committee on Reporting 
would examine me. — Yours truly, 

" Denman, 

"Dr. Richardson is a lengthy speaker, 
Mr. Atkinson, MP, for Boston, presses his 
Bill on Duration of Speeches." 

The member for Boston alluded 
mr. farmer to in the postscript is the gentle- 
ATKINSON. man later known as Mr. Farmer 
Atkinson. He was Lord Den- 
man's great political and Parliamentary ally. 
Whilst he still sat in the Commons, Lord 
Denman was a frequent visitor to the lobby, 
where the twain held long consultations. 
They had struck up an alliance designed 
by its operations and influence to curb 
insolent majorities in either House, and 
to lower the crest of haughty Ministers. 
Lord Denman ? s favourite measure — he had 
quite a batch— was designed to extend the 
Parliamentary suffrage to women. Mr. 
Atkinson had drafted a Bill limiting the 
duration of speeches, a proposal much 
laughed at ; but, as will appear from what is 

#ffl/tf*iWtwn % 


set forth in an earlier page, the member for 
Boston was apparently only ahead of his 
time* Lord Denman undertook, when 
the Bill had passed the Commons, to 
pilot it through the Lords, Mr Atkinson 
on his part undertaking to carry through the 




Commons his noble friend's measure on 
woman ? s suffrage. As neither passed either 
House, there was no call to fulfil this mutual 
pledge, Still, the prospect led to many im- 
portant and interesting colloquies between 
the two statesmen, re- 
garded by the party 
Whips with gallant ap- 
pearance of amusement, 

r ^„_ The peers 

lord . , J , . 

„«w „ had a short 

„„ way with 
scores. J f * 

poor Lo rd 

Den man and his efforts 
to advance his Bills by 
a stage, Any peer may 
bring in a Bill, have it 
read a first time as a 
matter of course, and 
printed at the expense 
of the nation, This 
Lord Denman did 
Session after Session 
with his Woman's 
Suffrage Bill. But he 
never got it read a 
second time, What 
happened on such oc- 
casions was that some 
noble lord connected 
with the Government rose and moved that 
the Bill be read a second time on that day 
six months, No one showed a disposition 
to discuss the matter, and in a few moments 
the Bill was shelved. 

Once Lord Denman had the best of this 
joke. In the Session of 1S88, he early in the 
year brought on his Woman's Suffrage Bill 
As usual, it was agreed to read it a second 
time on that day six months, a formula which 
confidently implied that when that period was 
reached Parliament would have been pro- 
rogued. It happened in this particular year 
that the Session was so prolonged that the 
House of Lords was still sitting six months 
after Lord Denman had moved his resolu- 
tion. He had not forgotten the date, if 
others had. Upon its occurrence he rose, 
reminded their lordships that they had 
unanimously agreed on that very day to 
read his Bill a second time, and claimed 
fulfilment of the undertaking. The peers 
backed out of the situation, leaving Lord 
Denman with the second reading of his 
hapless Bill carefully relegated to that day 
three months, a date when it was more than 
ever certain the House would not he sitting. 

When, next Session, he brought in the 
Bill, Lord Cran brook made the usual motion. 


Lord Denman, appearing at the table, said : 
" My Lords, will the noble Viscount state 
whether, in moving that the second reading 
shall be taken on this day six months, he 
means six lunar months or six calendar 
months ? 7 

There is nothing like 
being precise, and the 
few days' difference be- 
tween an aggregation of 
six lunar or six calendar 
months might make all 
the difference in his 
chance of finding the 
House again sitting. 

Lord Salis- 
rousfjx bury when 
Premier was, 
perhaps, a little peremp- 
tory with a weaker 
brother. If Lord Den- 
man rose with another 
peer and declined to 
give way, Lord Salisbury 
promptly moved that the 
other peer be heard. 
When the Small Hold- 
ings Bill of 1892 came 
on for consideration on 
third reading, Lord 
Denman moved its rejection. At the end of 
ten minutes Lord Salisbury, interposing, 
declared that his remarks, inaudible on most 
benches, had no bearing on the Bill before 
the House. The crushed worm will turn 
at last. Lord Denman had frequently 
suffered from the impatience of the Premier. 


usual motk 

He now turned on Lord Salisbury, and per- 
sonally rated him for some moments, con- 
cluding byI)jtgkiii^f|tb«Fntahle with clenched 




fist and resuming his seat, whilst Lord Salis- 
bury stonily stared into space across the 

Lord Denman was a profound student of 
Parliamentary precedents, and occasionally 
flashed one upon the Lords, whose novelty 
disturbed their habitual and well-trained 
imperturbability. When Mr. Ritchie's Local 
Government Bill, coming up from the Com- 
mons, had been grudgingly passed by 
their lordships, Lord Denman brought in 
a Bill for its repeal. This courageous 
effort met with the customary late. Its 
introduction was not refused, and the 
Bill was printed. But a second reading was 
curtly refused. 

There was supposed to be an end of the 
matter. But a few nights later Lord Denman 
came up smiling with 
another Bill, designed 
to effect the purpose 
of the first. He ad- 
mitted that this course 
was unusual. But he 
had found a precedent 
in the year 1754 con- 
nected with an Act 
for the naturalization 
of the Jews. "I have 
been thirty-four years 
in this House," he 
added, parenthetically, 
"and am entitled to 
speak in every month 
except October." 

Why October, the 
peers, being after all 
human, were curious 
to know. But they 
metered the weak- 
ness and sat silent, 
whilst Lord Denman, 
raising his musical 
voice to tones of passionate entreaty, be- 
sought them in the name of the liberties 
of England to read his Bill a first time. 

What followed illustrates the difference of 
habit on the part of the Lords and Commons 
in dealing with cases like this. Had Lord 
Denman risen upon such an errand in the 
Commons, he would have been greeted with 
uproarious laughter and cheering, the scene 
closing by the stern interference of the 
Speaker. In the Lords he talked on amid 
perfect silence till he had quite finished. 
Then the Lord Chancellor, taking no more 
notice of him than if he had been a. blue- 
bottle fly buzzing round the chandelier, went 
on with the next business. 





His last interposition in the 

no business of the House of Lords 

bishops, was* most dramatic. The peers 

to the number of twenty or 

thirty were discussing some Bill, the name 

of which does not dwell in the memory. 

Suddenly appeared in their midst the tall, 

gaunt figure of Lord Denman, with skull 

cap on his head, his left hand clutching a 

bundle of papers, his right pointing to the 

Front Bench above the gangway, where ex- 

Ministers sit. 

" My Lords," he said, interrupting the 
peer who was in possession of the House, 
" there are no Bishops present. I move 
that this House do now adjourn." 

No notice was taken of the interruption, 
and after a while Lord Denman, gathering 
up his papers, hurried 
from the House. Other 
peers might discuss 
miscellaneous Bills in 
the absence of the 
Bishops. He would not 
share their responsi- 

The wide 
range of 
over the English-speak- 
ing world brings me 
letters from various 
parts, near and remote, 
following up topics 
here touched upon. 
One writes from Bom- 
bay: " Passing through 
London on my way 
to five years' exile, I 
spent a night in the 
House of Commons, 
and was much com- 
forted. It may at times be dull here, but 
for absolute, soul-depressing dulness, I never 
saw anything like the centre of -attraction 
for denizens of a scattered Empire. When, 
from month to month, I read ' From 
Behind the Speaker's Chair,' I wonder 
that you, who seem to spend your days 
and nights in the House, still survive. 
Are you not really bored to death ? Is 
not flesh a weariness and the grasshopper 
a burden ? " 

We have no grasshoppers in the House of 
Commons, though last Session a mouse looked 
in and momentarily concentrated upon itself 
the attention of a crowded legislature. To- 
wards the en4q<Mi#| prolonged Session— and 






last August, with brief intermission, the House 
of Commons counted twenty months' hard 
labour — things don't look so bright as they did. 
But for a sufficiently good reason the House 
of Commons never palls upon me beyond 
the influence of a passing hour of dreariness. 
The reason is that, like the sea, it is never 
to be counted upon for prolongation of a 
particular mood or a current aspect. At one 
moment it may be in a condition depicted 
by the disappointed visitor on his way to 
Bombay. The next it may break forth 
into a burst of merry laughter ; may 
be moved to enthusiastic cheering or 
shouts of execration ; may even be lashed 
into a state of tumult such as that which 
made memorable a night in June in the 
Home Rule Session of 1893. At its best the 
House of Commons in dramatic qualities 
exceeds any Assembly in the world. At its 
worst it is, in truth, deadly dull But, even in 
the depths of dulness, the seeing eye may 
discern some touch of human interest 

Here is a note from Mr. Archi- 
the irish bald Forbes, whose knowledge is 
pe-erage. extensive and peculiar. It relates 
to a House of Commons' story, 
told in a former number, wherein a Con- 
servative member, living in Whitehall Court, 
endeavoured to obtain permission to drive 
through the Horse Guards archway. Accord- 
ing to the smoking-room story, he was told 
that that was impossible, the privilege being 
reserved for Royalty and a few highly-placed 
personages connected with the War Office. 
But he might be made an Irish peer. 

Digitized by Google 




"The actual story," writes Mr. Forbes, "is 
of the George III. period. Robert Smith, 
the banker, and ancestor of the present 
Lord Carrington, had a house whose back, 
with the usual garden in front of it, faced the 
Green Park on its eastern side. He desired 
to have an entrance into the park from his 
garden, and petitioned the King to that effect 
through the proper channel. * I cannot grant 
him this privilege,' said old George, 4 but I 
shall be very glad to make him an Irish peer 
instead.' So Smith became Lord Carrington 
in the Irish peerage, and a year later received 
a peerage of U.K." 

Another correspondent on the same subject 
writes to say that he first heard the story 
twenty-seven years ago. 

Mr. William Lincolne sends 
from Ely a note which seems 
to settle an important con- 
troversy. Was the Brobding- 
nagian check pattern of Lord 
Brougham's trousers a figment of the fancy 
of Mr. Punchy or did they actually exist ? 
Says Mr. Lincolne : — 

"Among his lordship's enthusiastic ad- 
mirers was a Huddersfield manufacturer, 
who, having turned out a remarkably 
good shepherd's plaid trousering, sent 
him a piece with compliments. He had 
a pair of trousers made from it, and when 
these were worn out, having the cloth still by 
him, he just had another pair, and so on 
to the end of his days. My informant, 
a friend of thirty-five years' standing, was 
a Huddersfield man, and what may be 
still more to the purpose, I saw his 
lordship wearing a pair during what must 
have been his last public appearance on a 
platform at Newcastle some time in the sixties. 
He was then a mild-mannered, genial old 
gentleman, and as I listened to his old man's 
saws, it was hard to believe he could ever have 
been the fiery advocate of Queen Caroline, 
the indomitable Henry Brougham ! Sed 
quantum mutatus ab i//o. 

" The enormous pattern was just the ' touch 
of exaggeration essential to success in 
caricature,' but the basis was shepherd's 

It seems a quite unnecessary task 
to impose upon the over-burdened 
Speaker the necessity of waiting 
about to whatever hour of night 
or morning may be necessary in 
order to declare the adjourn- 
ment of the House of Commons. When 
the House is in Committee upon a large and 
intricate measure* such as the Home Rule Bill 




or the Budget Bill, the Chairman of Com- 
mittees takes the chair immediately after 
questions are disposed of — that is, between 
four and five in the afternoon — and remains at 
his post till midnight. Thereupon^ under exist- 
ing rules, progress is reported, the Chairman 
leaves the chair, the Speaker is brought in, 
and the Chairman, standing by fhe steps of 
the chair, reports progress. As with certain 
exceptions no opposed business may be taken 
after midnight, all the Speaker has to do is 
to run through the orders of the day (that is, 
to read the list of Bills put down for the 
sitting), and, these being severally postponed, 
the House is adjourned within a space of 
five minutes* 

"Why," common persons would inquire, 
"should the Speaker, in such circumstances, 
not be free for the whole of the evening 
— at liberty to go to bed when he pleases ?" 
The reason is the uncertainty of what may 
momentarily arise in the House of Commons, 
Not only does the Speaker await the midnight 
call to proceed to the adjournment, but he 
does not feel himself at liberty to 
leave his House all through the long 
hours the Committee is pegging away 
under the presidency of the Chairman, 

The necessity for this hard - and - fast 
line was demonstrated on the occasion of the 
great fight on the Closure in Committee 
on the Home Rule Bill. That sprang up like a 
whirlwind Had the Speaker not been within 
call when a messenger was sent to summon 
him, a deplorable scene must have reached 
still lower depths. 

As it was, the call was so sudden and the 
hurry so urgent, that when the Speaker took 
the chair he had no definite knowledge of 
the circumstances that led up to the tumult* 
a condition of things Mn Peel, with his 
customary presence of mind and infinite 
skill, put to ready use, When members 
showed a disposition to go b^cl* on what had 
immediately followed upon the interruption 
of Mr. Chamberlain's speech, the Speaker 
said he had no information on the subject, 
and declined to permit discussion. 

That was an exceptional case ; but it is 
an exception which achieves the customary 
function of proving the rule. In ninety nine 
cases out of a hundred the Speaker might 
finally retire from the scene when the House 
resumes Committee on a big Government 
Bill On the hundredth his return to the 
chair is imperatively needed, 

by Google 

Original from 

Stories from the Diary of a Doctor. 


Bv I* T« Mkadk and Clifford Halifax, M.1). 

[The'** stories are written in collaboration with a medical man of large es|>erience. !\f any nre founded on f:ict. and nil a 
within the region of practical medical science. Those stories wfcirh may convey an idea of the impost hie are only a forecast of ; 
early realisation,] 

HE extraordinary story which I 

am about to tell happened a 

few years ago. 1 was staying 

for a short time in a small 

village in Warwickshire, and 

was called up suddenly one 

evening to see the Squire of the place, who 

had met with a bad accident and was lying 

in an almost unconscious condition at his 

own hou?e. The local doctor happened to 

be away, and my services were eagerly 

demanded. Under the circumstances, there 

was nothing for it but to comply. I stepped 

into the brougham sent for me to the village 

inn, and, after a very short drive, found 

myself at Hartley Castle. It was an ancient, 

castellated pile, and village gossip had already 

informed me that it had been the property 

of the Norreys family for hundreds of years. 

The night was a bright and moonlight one in 

July, and as I drove down the straight avenue 

and passed under a deep archway into a large 

courtyard, I caught my first distinct view of 

the house. 

As soon as ever the carriage drew up at 

the front door an old servant in livery flung 

it open, and I saw in the background a lady 

waiting with some nervousness to receive me* 
Vol i* -6. 

by Google 

She came forward at once, and held out her 

41 Dr, Halifax, I presume ? "' 

I bowed, 

"I have heard of you,'* she said- "It is 
a lucky chance for us that brings you to 
Hartley just now. I am Miss Norreys, My 
father was thrown from his horse two hours 
ago. He seems to be very ill, and is unable 
to move. When he was first discovered 
lying in the avenue he was unconscious, but 
he is able to speak now, and knows what is 
going on— he seems, however, to be in great 

discomfort, in short -" she broke off 

abruptly, and her thin, colourless face turned 

"Can I see the patient?" I interrupted. 

II Oh, yes," she replied ; " I will take you 
to him immediately — come this way, please." 

I followed Miss Norreys up some shallow 
stairs, which led into the Squire's bedroom. 

I found my patient stretched flat in the 
centre of the bed. A manservant and an 
elderly woman, whom Miss Norreys addressed 
as Connor, were standing at a little distance. 
One of the windows was thrown open for air, 
and the bed-curtains were flung back. 

When I approached him> Squire Norreys 
Original from 




fixed two rather fierce and strained black 
eyes upon my face— he was breathing with 
extreme difficulty, and it required but a brief 
glance to show me that he was suffering 
from injury to the spinal cord. 

I bent over my patient and asked him a 
few questions. He replied to them in a 
perfectly rational manner, although bis words 
came out slowly and with effort. He gave 
mc a brief account of the accident, and said 
that his last conscious impression was fall- 
ing somewhat heavily near the nape of the 
neck. When he recovered consciousness, he 
found himself lying in bed, 

"What is the 
matter with me ? " r^ 
he asked j when he 
had finished mak- 
ing his brief state- 

" You are suffer- 
ing from injury to 
the spinal cord," I 
answered. " 1 can- 
not tell yet what 
the extent of your 
injuries may be, 
but I hope they 
are not very serious, 
and that after a 
time your most un- 
comf or ta ble symp- 
toms will abate/" 

"I find it hard — 
to breathe," he said, 
with a gasp. Then 
he closed his eyes, 
being evidently too 
exhausted for fur- 
ther conversation. 

Miss Norreys 
asked me to come 
with her into an- 
other room. I did 
so, and when lliere 
briefly described 
the case to her. 

"My opinion is, that the paralysis will jvass 
off before long," I said. 4i I do not think 
that any serious effusion of blood into the 
spinal cord has taken place. The brain, too, 
is absolutely clear, which is an excellent 
symptom. Of course, if the Squire is not 
better to-morrow, I should like to consult 
a specialist — now there is nothing to be done 
but to apply the simple remedies which I 
have ordered, and to w T atch him." 

t; I will sit up," said Miss Norreys. 

II You miiit do as you please, of course," 

digitized byCaOOgU 

will' hi-: AM | ; \th Askifr.1i. 

I replied ; lI but as I am here, it is scarcely 

** I should prefer it/' she answered. 
I did not argue the point with her, and 
half an hour later took my place by my 
patient's bedside, Miss Norreys occupied 
an easy chair in a distant part of the room, 
and the old servant, Connor, sat within call 
in the dressing-room. The night passed 
without any special incident— thy patient 
was restless and suffered much from thirst 
and want of breath. Towards morning he 
dropped off into an uneasy sleep— from this 
he awoke with a sudden sharp cry. 

"Where am I?" 
— -i he asked, in a husky 

I bent over him 

"In bed," I an 
swered* " You have 
had a fall and have 
hurt yourself— I am 
sitting with you/' 

"I remember 
now," he said : 
11 you are a doctor, 
are you tiot ? " 

"Yes - my name 
is Halifax — I am 
taking care of you 
for the present ; 
Dr. Richards, your 
family doctor, being 
away* Drink this, 
please, and lie still. 
You will soon, I 
trust, be much 

I held a drink 
to the Squire's 
thirsty lips. He 
drained it off 
eagerly, then looked 
past me into the 
dark recesses of the 
il Is that Orian in that chair? " he asked, a 
queer, startled quiver coming into his voice. 

" No, father, it's me, 1 ' replied Miss Norreys, 
alarm in her tone. 

"I made a mistake, 1 ' he answered* He 
closed his eyes, giving vent as he did so to a 
heavy sigh. A moment or two later he fell 
into a natural sleep. 

In the morning I thought him better, and 
told Miss Norreys so. 

"I am convinced/' I said, "that the injury 
is only ^'Ig^nift^^fr^fl 1 f ' ie sy-mptoms of 




paralysis will diminish instead of increasing. 
There is no present necessity for calling in a 
specialist, but I should * like your father's 
family physician, Dr. Richards, to be tele- 
graphed for. He knows his constitution and, 
in any case, ought to be here to take charge 
of his patient." 

11 I will telegraph for him," said Miss 
Norreys ; " but I hope, Dr. Halifax," she 
continued after a pause, " that you will not 
resign the care of my father for the present." 

" I will remain with your father, with 
pleasure," I replied ; " but it is only just to 
Dr. Richards to consult him, and I should 
like him to be telegraphed for." 

Miss Norreys promised to see to this im- 
mediately : the telegram was sent off, and a 
reply reached us within an hour or two. The 
family doctor was laid up with a severe chill 
in a distant part of the country, and could 
not return to Hartley for another day at 

" That settles the matter, then," said Miss 
Norreys, with a sigh of relief. She was a 
wiry-looking woman, with a nervous expres- 
sion of face. Her age might have been 
forty : her hair was thin, her brow deeply 
furrowed. It was easy to guess that trouble 
had visited this poor lady, and that even now 
she lived under its shadow. 

The special nature of that trouble I was 
quickly to learn. 

As the day advanced Squire Norreys grew 
distinctly better. His upper limbs were still 
completely paralyzed, but his breathing was 
less laboured, and the .expression of anxiety 
and apprehension on his face less marked. 
When the evening arrived I was able to give 
a good report of my patient to his daughter. 

" I have every hope that your father will 
completely recover," I said. " The effusion 
of blood into the cord, which is the symptom 
most to be dreaded in such an accident, is 
slight, and is being quickly absorbed. Of 
course, it will be necessary for a long time to 
keep the patient free from the slightest care 
or worry." 

I paused here. Squire Norrey's face was 
not a placid one. There were fretful lines 
round the mouth, and many furrows sur- 
rounded the deeply set and piercing eyes. I 
remembered, too, the name he had spoken 
suddenly in the night, and the tone of con- 
sternation in which his daughter had assured 
him of his mistake. 

" Undue excitement, worry, indiscretion 
of any sort, would be bad for him now," I 
said, "and might easily lead to dangerous 

Miss Norreys, who had been looking at 
me fixedly while I was speaking, turned very 
pale. She was silent for a moment, then she 
said, with passion : — 

" It is so easy for doctors to order a sort 
of paradise for their patients — it is so difficult 
on this earth to secure it for them. How can 
I guarantee that my father will not be 

worried ? Nay " she stopped— a flood 

of crimson swept over her face — " I know he 
will be worried. Worry, care, sorrow, are the 
lot of all. If worry, care, and sorrow are to 
cause dangerous symptoms, then he is a 
doomed man." 

"I am sorry to hear you speak so," I 
replied. "Your words seem to point to 
some special trouble — can nothing be done 
to remove it ? " 

" Nothing," she answered, shutting up her 
lips lightly. She moved away as she spoke, 
and I returned to my patient. 

The following night Squire Norreys and I 
again spent together. He was restless and 
there was a certain amount of fever. Soon 
after midnight, however, he quieted down 
and sank into heavy slumber. About three 
in the morning, I was sitting, half dozing, by 
his bedside, when something made me start 
up wide awake. I saw that the Squire's eyes 
were open — a second glance showed me, 
however, that though the eyes were open, 
the man himself was still in the shadowy land 
of dreams — he looked past me without seeing 
me— his eyes smiled, his strong under-lip 

" Is that you, Orian ? " he said. " Come 
and kiss me, child — ah, that's right. You 
have been a long time away — kiss me again 
— I have missed you —yes, a good bit — yes, 

yes " He closed his eyes, continuing 

his dream with satisfaction reflected all over 
his face. 

Who was Orian ? It was not difficult to 
guess that, whoever she was, she had some- 
thing to do with the Squire's too evident 
distress of mind. In the morning, as my 
custom was, I resolved to take the bull by 
the horns. I should be in a better position 
to help my patient if I knew exactly what 
ailed him — I determined to speak openly to 
Miss Norreys. 

"Your father is going on well," I said, 
" but his improvement would be even more 
marked if his mind were at rest." 

" What do you mean ? " she stammered. 

14 You gave me a hint yesterday," I said — 
" you hinted at something being wrong. In 
the night the Squire had a dream — he spoke 
in his dream -flrithr great passion and feeling 



to someone whom he called Orian — he 
seemed to find great relief in her presence. 
Is that your name ? " 

Miss Norreys was standing when I spoke 
to her — she now clutched hold of the back 
of the nearest chair to support herself. 

" My name is Agnes," she replied. " I 
knew, I guessed," she continued — " I 
guessed, I hoped, that the old love was not 
dead. Did he speak to her, to Orian, as if 
he still loved her, Dr. Halifax? " 

" Yes," I replied. " Who is she ? " 

" I will tell you — come into my boudoir." 

She led me down a corridor and into a 
quaint little room furnished in old-fashioned 
style. Her movements were quick, her 
manner full of agitation. She hastily opened 
a davenport which stood against one of the 
walls, and took out a photograph in a velvet 

"That is Orian's picture," she said, placing 
the photograph in my hand. " You will see 
for yourself that there is not much likeness 
between that young girl and me." 

I looked at the photograph with interest. 
It represented a tall, finely-made girl. Her 
face was dark, her eyes brilliant — the 
expression of her face was full of fire and 
spirit — her lips were beautifully curved, and 
were just touched with the dawn of a radiant 
smile. A glance was sufficient to show me 
that her beauty was of a remarkable and dis- 
tinguished order. 

" 1 will tell you Orian's story in as few 
words as I possibly can," said Miss Norreys. 
She sank down into a low chair as she spoke, 
and clasped her hands on her knees. I laid 
the photograph back on the table. 

" We are step-sisters," she began. " Orian's 
mother died at her birth — she asked me to 
be a mother to her. I loved my step- 
mother, and the baby became like my 
own child. She grew up in this house as 
gay and bright and fresh as girl could be. 
From her earliest days, she was my father's 
special darling and idol. It would have 
been impossible anywhere to meet a more 
winsome, daring, fascinating creature. The 
Squire is kind at heart — yes, I will always 
maintain that ; but he has a somewhat fierce 
and overbearing manner — at times also his 
temper is irritable. Most people show a 
little fear of the Squire. Orian never feared 
anybody, and her father least of all. She 
would go about the place hanging on his 
arm. She would sit on his knee in the 
evening; she would ride with him all over the 
property — those two were scarcely ever apart, 
and a look, a glance from Orian would 

soothe the old man in his most irritable 
moods. Her entrance into the room was 
like a ray of sunshine to my father. 

" We all felt her influence," continued Miss 
Norreys, with a heavy sigh ; " her brightness 
made the old place gay ; she was liked by 
young and old, rich and poor alike. Never 
was there a more warm-hearted, spirited, 
and brilliant girl. She could sing like a 
lark, and had also a considerable talent 
for art. My father would not allow her 
to go to school, but the best masters from 
Leamington used to come here to instruct 

"Amongst them was a young man of the 
name of Seymour: he was an artist, and 
seemed to have talent above the average. He 
came here once a week to give Orian lessons, 
and he and she, in my company, used to go out 
to sketch. I liked him and was interested in 
his future ; he expected to do great things 
with his art by-and-by. Orian and I were 
both interested in his day-dreams. Although 
poor, he was quite a gentleman, and was 
good-looking and refined in appearance. 

" When my sister was nearly eighteen, my 
father came to me one day in order to make 
a confidence. There was no male heir to 
inherit the estates, but the property was not 
entailed, and the Squire could leave it to 
whom he pleased. He knew that I inherited 
a considerable fortune from my mother, also 
that I had no wish for matrimony. My 
father told me on this occasion that he 
wished Orian to marry well and young, and 
that he intended her eldest son to take the 
name of Norreys and be his heir. He 
further told me that he had fixed upon the 
man who was to be the child's husband — a 
Sir Hugo Price, whose property adjoins ours. 
Sir Hugo had fallen in love with Orian, and 
a day or two before this conversation had 
ask^d my father's permission to woo her and 
win her if he could. 

"I was startled, and begged for longer 
time— my father, who never could brook 
the slightest opposition, became indignant, 
and firmly declared that the marriage 
should take place before the year was out. 
I thought Orian would settle matters by 
refusing to have anything to do with Sir 
Hugo Price, who was considerably her senior, 
and whom she never had shown the least 
partiality for. To my surprise, however, she 
made little or no opposition. She consented 
to be engaged to Sir Hugo, and the wedding 
was to talce place immediately after her 
eighteenth birthday The whole county was 

invited tffliv^^fe^n p" 5 *"* 



tions were too great to do honour to such a 

** The night before, however, quite late, the 
bride stole into my room ■ she flung her arms 
round my neck, kissed me, and burst into 
violent weeping, I guessed at once that she 
was in trouble, but she would not confide in 
me. I could do nothing but soothe and pet 

r r.tEMEn at once she was in trouble." 

her, and after a time she wiped away her 
tears, kissed me again, and went away. 

* 4 The next morning, you can imagine our 
consternation — the house was full of wedding 
guests, the bridegroom arrived in good time, 
but then: was no bride for him to marry. My 
sister could not be found — she had left 
Hartley Castle, how and when no one seemed 
to know. I learned long afterwards that our 
old servant Connor was in the secret, but 
nothing would have induced her to breathe a 
word which might injure her darling. I can 
never tell you what that terrible day was like, 
The next morning a letter in Orian's hand- 
writing arrived by post— it bore a London 
post-mark, and was addressed to my father. 
He read it standing by the hearth in this 
room. When he had finished it, he placed 
it in my hands, and said, abruptly :— 


4i * She has made her bed and she shall lie 
on it. I forbid you to mention your .sister's 
name again to me, Agnes/ 

" He left the room as he spoke ; when 
he had gone I read the poor child's brief 
words, She was now, she said t the wife of 
Charles Seymour, the young artist who had 
given her drawing lessons the previous sum- 
mer, and to whom she had long been secretly 
and passionately attached. Nothing, she 
said, could bring her to marry Sir Hugo 
Price, but as she knew that her father would 
never consent to her engagement to Mr, 
Seymour, she was forced to take this cowardly 
way of securing her own happiness. 

"'Yes,' she said, in conclusion, 'I know 
what I have done is cowardly, and I fear it 
will be a long time before you forgive me; 
still, I do not repent.' 

" There was no address on poor Orian's 
letter. I offered to return it to my father — 
he took it from my hands with a great oath, 
and, tearing it into shreds, flung the pieces 
on the fire. 

" ' I forbid you to mention your sister's 
name to me/ he said, ' and, what is more, I 
lay my commands on you never to write to 
her or to have any further dealings with 
her of any sort whatsoever — if you do, 
you can also go,' 

II Ot course I could not leave my father — 
he wanted me during those fearful days of 
suffering more than he had any idea of. 

" A year after the marriage the birth of 
Orian's son was announced in the Times. 
My father was the first to see the announce- 
ment He pointed it out to me with a 
trembling finger. He had aged greatly 
during the year, and his temper, always 
irritable, was sometimes almost unbearable. 
He showed me the announcement of the 
child's birth now, and abruptly left the 

"That evening, however, to my great 
surprise, he came and spoke to me. 

*** I never go back on my word,* he said, 
1 Orian is exactly to me as if she were dead. 
She gave me up, and I give her up, but there 
is no reason why her son should not inherit 
the property.' 

"My heart gave a leap at the words. 

III What do you mean, father?' I asked. 

" ' What I say/ he replied. 'Orian has a 
son : he can take our name, he can be 
educated here — I can make him my heir, 
and he can inherit Hartley Castle after me — 
that is, if he is in all respects presentable— 
strong in limb and sound in intellect. 
Write to your sister. Agues, and tell her to 




send the child here for me to see when he is 
a year old — write to-night, do you hear me? ' 

4< I promised gladly — that evening my 
letter was posted. 1 begged of my poor 
sister to consider the splendid prospect for 
her child, and to think well before she refused 
the Squire's offer. Her answer came back 
within a fortnight. 

11 ' I was glad to hear from you again/ she 
said ; i your letter satisfied some of my heart 
hunger, but not all. Only a letter from my 
father himself could do that I have called 
the boy Cyril, after my father — he is in every 
respect a noble child. I should like him to 
inherit the old place. If my father will 
allow me to bring him myself to Hartley 
Castle, when he is a year old, and if at the 
same time he will forgive me for having married 
the man whom I really love, my baby Cyril 
shall be his heir— if not, my husband and I 
would prefer to keep our boy to ourselves.' 

" I showed this letter to the Squire, whose 
face turned crimson as he read it. 

" ' I never go back on my word,' he 
said, 'tell her that from me. If the boy is 
presentable I'll have him, but I'll have 
nothing to do with her, or the miserable 
pauper whom she has married.' 

" I was obliged to write to Orian to tell 
her that there was no chance of a reconcilia- 
tion for her or her husband. She never 
answered my letter. Months went by ; the 
boy's first birthday passed without my sister 
making any sign. Then, one day, I had a 
short letter from Orian. It ran as follows : — 

" ' My husband is ill ; I am in great anxiety. 
If my father still wishes to see little Cyril, I 
will send him to Hartley Castle when he is 
two years old.' 

" I showed the letter to the Squire. 

" ' Aye, tell her to send him,' he responded. 

" ' Won't you give her a kind word, father ? 
She is in dreadful trouble,' I pleaded. 

" 'I have nothing to do with her,' he 
answered ; 'she is dead to me.' He turned 
on his heel as he spoke, slamming the door 
after him. 

" I wrote to my sister, telling her to send 
the child as soon as she could. My father 
never mentioned him again, but I saw by the 
expression in his eyes and by the eager way 
in which he watched when the post arrived 
each morning, that in reality he was always 
thinking of the child. One day I saw the 
announcement of Charles Seymour's death 
in the Times. I rushed into my fathers 
study, holding the open paper in my hands. 

" 4 1 know what you are going to tell me,' 
he exclaimed when he saw me. 'I looked 

at the Times before breakfast — the fellow's 
death is nothing to me.' 

44 ' But Orian,' I interrupted. 

" ' How often am I to tell you that she is 
dead to me ? ' he replied. 

" I turned away. As I was leaving the 
room he called after me. 

" ' When do you expect that child to be 
sent here, Agnes ? ' 

" ' He was to have come after his second 
birthday,' I answered, ' but it is scarcely 
likely that poor Orian will find herself able 
to part with him now*' 

44 My father stared at me when I said this ; 
then, whistling to one of his dogs, he walked 
out of the room. On the child's birthday a 
letter arrived from his mother. It contained 
a photograph of the boy and a few words. 

" * I am sending baby's photograph,' she 
wrote. i Perhaps my father will be able to 
judge by it whether the child is sufficiently 
presentable to inherit the property. At any 
rate, I cannot spare the boy himself for the 

" She made no allusion whatever to her 
husband's death. I took the photograph 
and letter to my father. He read the letter 
through and then scanned the photograph 

44 ' As far as I can see there is nothing 
amiss with the little chap,' he said ; ' but you 
don't suppose, Agnes, I am such a fool as to 
choose my heir from a photograph. Tell 
your sister to send the boy here with his 
nurse — I will defray the expense. After I 
have seen him, his mother can have him 
back again if she fancies it, until he is five or 
six years of age. If I adopt him as my heir, 
I will give a suitable allowance for his main- 
tenance. You can mention that when you 

44 1 took the photograph and letter away 
with me, and wrote as 1 was bidden. A 
reply came within a week. 

44 4 1 cannot fix any date for sending the 
child to Hartley Castle,' wrote my sister. 
4 As I said in my last letter, I do not wish to 
part with him at present. It is possible that 
I may send him in a few months for my 
father to see, but I do not make any definite 

44 That letter arrived about six months ago 
— the boy is now two and a half years of age, 
and we have not yet seen him. My father, I 
can see, lives in a constant state of fret and 
irritation. He often threatens to make his 
will, leaving the property to a distant relation, 
but for some unaccountable reason he never 
takes any active steps in the matter. You 





speak of this anxiety being bad for him— 
what can I possibly do to remove it ? " 

i4 1 should recommend you to see Mrs* 
Seymour/' I replied, ''and to find out for 
yourself what is her real objection to sending 
the boy here, I am firmly convinced that at 
bottom your father still retains a real and 
deep affection for her. I have known 
characters like his before. Such men will 
rather die than allow their indomitable pride 
to be conquered* The presence of the child 
might work wonders, and for every reason he 
ought to be sent for immediately." 

Miss Norreys stood up in great anxiety and 

" If I only dared to do it/' I heard her 
murmur under her breath. 

She had scarcely said these words when a 
rustling noise in the passage caused Miss 
Norreys to turn her nead quickly — a look of 
eager and startled expectation suddenly filled 
her eyes* The next instant the room door 
was flung hastily open, and the disturbed 
face of the old servant, Connor, appeared 
she rushed into the room, exclaiming, in an 
agitated way ; — 

"Oh, Miss Norreys* I hope you'll forgive 
m<t — I never, never th ought shed be so iriad 

and wilful. What is to be done, 
miss? Oh t suppose the Squire 
finds out ! 7> 

Before Miss Norreys had 
time to utter a woid a tall, 
gracefully-made young woman, 
in de^p widows mourning, 
followed her into the room ; 
behind the young widow came a 
nurse carrying a child* One 
glance told me who the widow 
and child were, 

41 Oh, Miss Orian, you 
shouldn't have come back like 
this," called out the old servant, 
" Nonsense, Connor/' she re- 
plied, in an imperious but sweet 
voice ; " could I stay away, 
when you telegraphed that my 
father was so ill ? Give me 
baby, nurse, and go away, 
please. Aggie, this is baby — this 
is little Cyril -I have brought 
him at last, and I have come 
myself. Connor telegraphed to 
me yesterday about my father's 
accident— she said his life was 
in danger. Aggie, kiss me. Oh, 
I have been so hungry for you, 
and for the old house, and for 
my dear father most of all. I 
was too proud to come to him until yesterday 
— but now— now— yes he shall forgive me — 
III go on my knees to him— I'll— Oh, Aggie, 
don't look at me with such startled eyes — I 
have suffered — I do suffer horribly* Aggie, 
I am desolate - and -and— here is baby" 

There was a wild sort of entreaty in her 
words and in the way she held the child out 
as she spoke. He was a heavy boy, but her 
young arms seemed made of iron. As to 
poor Miss Norreys, she was too stunned to 
reply- She stood with clasped hands gazing 
up pitiably at her sister. 

"Take baby, Connor," said the younger 
woman. ** Oh, Aggie, how old and worn 
you are. There, come to me, come into my 
arms," In a moment her strong young arms 
were swept round Miss Norreys 1 slight figure* 
She took the little lady into her embrace as 
though she were a child. Her long black 
widow's dress swept round her sister as she 
held her head on her breast* 

Presently 1 went upstairs to sit with my 
patient. The improvement which I have 
already spoken of was more marked eaen 
time I saw him. The Squire's eyes were 
bright, and I saw by their expression that 
his mind was att.vely at wort 




II ' IWr 


" I fancied I heard carriage wheels, ,J he 
said \ " has anyone come ? " 

I was' about to make a soothing reply, 
which should lead his thoughts from dangerous 
ground, when, to my extreme consternation 
and amazement, Miss Norreys entered the 
room , carrying her sister's little boy in her 
arms* I would have motioned her back if I 
could, but I was too late— the Squire had 
seen the boy— I saw him start violently — 
all the upper part of his body was still 
completely paralyzed, but the features of his 
face worked with agitation, and a wave of 
crimson mounted to his brow. 

" Keep yourself calm/' I said to him in a 
firm voice. " I cannot answer for the con- 
sequences if you allow yourself to get excited. 
Miss Norreys, you ought not to have brought 
that child into the room without my 
permission. JJ 

The poor lady gave me a piteous glance ; 
her eyes were red and swollen with weeping. 

" Let me see the youngster/' exclaimed the 
Squire, " Bring him over to the bed, Agnes, 
I know who he is — he is Orian's boy- she 
has sent him here at last Heavens 1 what a 

look of the family the little chap has— he is 
a Norreys, not a doubt of that/ 1 

Miss Norreys stood with her back to the 

l( Bring him round to the other side of the 
bed/' said the Squire, " and let me have a 
good look at him." 

Miss Norreys obeyed with some unwilling- 

The full light now streamed on the child's 
face— it was beautiful enough to please any- 
one — the features were perfect, the contour 
aristocratic — the full eyes were lovely in 
colouring and shape ; and yet— and yet it 
needed but one glance to tell me that no soul 
looked from the little fellow's tranquil gaze, 
that, in short, the mind in that poor little 
casket was a sealed book. The beautiful boy 
was looking at no one: he was gazing straight 
out of the window up at the sky. Presently 
the faintest of smiles trembled round his 
lips, but did not reach his serene eyes, 

"He's a fine little chap/' said the Squire, 
" hut— 7 ' there was a fearful pause. " How 
old is he, Agnes? Sl 

M Quite a baby, as you can see/' said Miss 

" Folly/- said the Squire ; H he's over two— 
put him on the bed/" 

Miss Norreys obeyed. 

The boy sat upright where he was placed, 
he never glanced at his grandfather, but his 
eyes followed the light, 

" He's a fine little chap/* repeated the old 
man ; '* very like us, but — when did you say 
he came, Agnes ? IP 

"About half an hour ago/' she replied, 
with firmness, " He's a lovely boy," she 
repeated ; "lie is as beautiful as an angel." 

The Squire knit his brows- his face was 
getting flushed, his keen, sharp eyes looked 
from the crown of the child's head to his 
daintily clothed feet. 

"Take him away/' he said, suddenly. His 
voice was harsh, there was a tremble in it. 

I motioned to Miss Norreys to obey. She 
lifted the little fellow into her arms again, 
and carried him out of the room. 

The moment the door closed behind them, 
Squire Norreys turned to me. 

"You are a doctor/' he said, "and you 
know what's up." 

I made no reply. 

"That boy's an idiot/' said the Squire — 
" he T s a beautiful idiot — he's no heir for me — 
don't mention him again. J * 

" There is something the matter with the 
child/' I said; "what, I cannot exactly tell 
you without giving him an examination. As 




he is in the house, I should like to go care- 
fully into his case, and will let you know my 
true opinion as soon as possible." 

*'* Aye, do," said the Squire; " but you know 
just as well as I dp, Halifax, that the unfortu- 
nate child has got no mind — that accounts — 

that accounts " he paused — the pink spots 

grew brighter on his cheeks. 

" I must send for my man of business," he 
said, speaking with great excitement, " I can- 
not rest until I have made a suitable disposal 
of my property — the dream about that child 
inheriting it is at an end." 

"Now listen to me," I said, in a firm 
voice ; " unless you wish your heir, whoever 
he may be, to step into possession at once, 
you are to attend to no business at present 
You have met with a serious accident — a 
very little more, and your life would have 
been the forfeit — as it is, you are making a 
splendid recovery, but excitement and worry 
will throw you back. In short, if you do not 
remain quiet, I cannot be answerable for the 
consequences. With care and prudence, you 
may live to manage your own property for 
many years. I am very sorry that you saw 
that little fellow to-day — the thing was done 
without my permission. I am going down- 
stairs, however, to examine him thoroughly, 
and will give you my verdict on his case 
when next I see you. Now you are to take 
your medicine and go to sleep. Nurse, come 
into the room, please." 

The professional nurse whom I had 
engaged to help me entered from the 
dressing-room. I gave her some directions, 
desired her to admit no one, and went down- 

Miss Norreys was anxiously waiting for me 
— she came out of her boudoir to meet me. 

" Is my father worse ? " she asked. 

u I hope not," I replied ; " but why did you 
bring that child into his room without my 
permission, Miss Norreys ? " 

" Oh, it was Orian," she replied ; " she 
would not be reasonable — she seemed carried 
out of herself by excitement and distress. It 
was as much as I could do to keep her from 
bringing the boy to my father herself. Of 
course, I know now why she kept him away 
all these months ; but she thought — she 
hoped — that my father might not notice how 
things were with the child while he was so 
ill himself." 

" You both did very wrong," I answered. 
" Of course, Mr. Norreys could not fail to 
observe the child's strange condition. By the 
way, I should like to see the boy again." 

" Orian is only too anxious to consult you 

Vol. ix. -6. 

about him," replied Miss Norreys. " Will 
you come in here ? " 

She led me again into her boudoir, said, in 
a husky voice, " I have brought Dr. Halifax 
to see you, Orian," and closed the door 
behind us. 

Mrs. Seymour was standing near one of 
the windows — the boy sat on a sofa facing 
the light. He was looking as usual up at the 
sky. The mother started when she heard 
my name, and gave me a quick glance. 

" Come here," she said ; " you can see him 
well from here. He won't mind — he never 
notices, never — he loves the light, he hates 
the dark — he has no other loves or hatreds. 
It's easy to satisfy him, isn't it ? " 

She glanced at me again as she said the 
last words, tears brimming over in her eyes. 
• " My sister tells me that you know some- 
thing of my story, Dr. Halifax," she continued. 
" I have heard of your name, and I am glad 
to make your acquaintance. Agnes wishes 
me to consult you about the boy, but I do 
not think there is anything to consult about. 
Anyone can see what is wrong— he has no 
mind. He is just beautiful, and he is alive. 
Even the cleverest doctors cannot give baby 
a mind, can they ? " 

" I should like to ask you a few questions 
about him," I said in reply. 

I sat down as I spoke and took the boy on 
my knee. He did not make the slightest 
objection to my handling him, but when I 
turned his face away for a moment from the 
bright light which streamed in from the 
window, a spasm of unrest seemed to pass 
over it. I felt the little head carefully ; there 
was no doubt whatever that the child's intel- 
lect was terribly impaired : one arm and one 
foot also turned inwards— an invariable sign 
of idiotcy. 

While I examined the child the mother 
stood perfectly still. Her hands were locked 
tightly together ; her attitude was almost as 
impassive as that of the baby himself. 

She had expressed no hope a moment 
before, but when I looked up at her now, her 
" Well?" came in a hoarse and eager whisper. 

11 1 can tell you exactly what is the matter," 
I said ; "the state of the child's head makes 
the case abundantly clear. He is a very 
finely made child — see his shoulders, and 
the size of his limbs generally — observe, how- 
ever, how small his head is in proportion to 
the rest of his frame. That smallness is at 
the root of the mischief. The little fellow is 
suffering from premature ossification of the 
cranial bones. In short, his brain is im- 
prisoned behind those nard bones and cannot 




grow. The bones I refer 
to should, at his tender 
age, be optn % to allow proper 
expansion of the growing 

il He was born like that," 
said Mrs. Seymour. "The 
nurse told me so when he 
was a few days old. She 
said that most babies have 
a soft spot on the top of 
the head, but my boy had 

" When he was quite an 
infant, did you notice any- 
thing peculiar about him ? " 

*' He was very bright and 
intelligent until he was three 
or four months old." 

" Yes," I continued : 
i( and after that?" 

(t One day he was taken 
with a violent attack of 
screaming which ended in 
a sort of fit — we sent for a 
doctor, who attributed the 
convulsions to teething, but 
after that the child's mind 
seemed to make no progress. 
He still knew me, however, 
and used to smile faintly 
when I approached him. « tt 

This continued for some 
time, but of late he has ceased to notice any- 
one — In fact, as I said just now, the only 
pleasure he has is in turning to the light Oh, 
his case is hopeless, and," she added, with 
passion, " he is all I have got" 

Tears gathered in her eyes, but none fell — 
she turned her head away to hide her 
emotion. When she looked at me again her 
manner was quite quiet, 

u My father has offered to make the little 
fellow his heir," she said ; " but, of course, 
after to-day, he will put such an idea out of 
his head. I do not think I care very much 
now whether Cyril is his heir or not, but I 
should be glad, if in any way possible, to 
have a reconciliation with my father" 

"I am afraid you must not see him 
to-day/ 1 I answered ; "it would never do for 
him to know that you are in the house. He 
is going on well, so you need not be anxious 
about him, but you must have patience with 
regard to seeing him* As to the child," I 
continued, "most people would consider his 
case hopeless, but I am not at all sure that 
I do." 

"What can vou mean?" she exclaimed. 

" Cyril's case not hopeless ! 
Surely I don't hear you aright 
—not hopeless ! Speak, Dr. 
Halifax— your words excite 
me — speaJt, tell me what 
you mean." 

" I will tell you after I 
have considered matters a 
little," I said. "An idea 
has occurred to me — it is 
a daring one; when you 
hear of the thought which 
has visited me, you may 
recoil from it in horror, but 
I cannot divulge itj even to 
you, until I have thought 
it over carefully. I will see 
you again on the subject in 
an hour or two," 

A brilliant rose-colour 
had come into Mrs. Sey- 
mour's cheeks, her beautiful 
eyes grew full of light. 

"You think that I won't 
consent," she said f " to arty- 
thihg that offers a gleam of 
hope! Oh, think out your 
plan as quickly as possible 
and let me know." 

I said I would do so — 
my heart ached with pro- 
found pity for hen I 
went out of the house and 
took a long walk* During the walk my 
idea took shape and form* The child's 
case was so hopeless that, surely, strong 
measures were justifiable which had even the 
most remote possibility of giving him relief. 
I felt inclined to do what had not to my 
knowledge been yet attempted, namely, to 
try to give release to the imprisoned brain. 

When I entered the house the Squire was 
awake, and was asking to see me. I went 
up to him at once. He was no worse, and 
the eagerness which filled his eyes to learn 
my news with regard to the boy made me 
resolve to speak to him quite openly on the 
subject, I gave him a brief account of what 
I considered the state of the case— then I 
told him what I wished my line of treatment 
to be. 

"I propose," I said, standing up as I 
spoke, for the thought of what I was about 
to do filled my mind with profound interest — 
H I propose to open the casket where the 
child's mind is now tightly bound up, and so 
to give the brain a chance of expansion.'* 
41 1 dun't understand you," said the Squire. 
u It is difi^UBiiRslfifiaiiTto explain to you 



the exact nature of the operation which I 
hope his mother may permit me to perform," 
I continued- "I admit that it is an experi- 
ment, and a tremendous one ; but I know a 
clever surgeon who can give me invaluable 
assistance, and, in short, I am prepared to 
undertake it." 

44 Suppose you don't succeed," said the 
Squire, " then the child " 

i( The child may die under the operation/ 
I said, " or he may live as he now is," 

" And if successful ? " continued Squire 

"Then he will be 
as other children." 

The Squire was 
silent* After a long 
pause he said, 
"And you think 
the mother will 
consent to such 
a risk ? " 

" I can but ask 
her,' 1 1 responded; 
" I am inclined to 
believe that she 
will consent" 

" You are a 
queer fellow, 
Halifax; your en- 
thusiasm excites 
even my admira- 
tion - but pray, 
why do you tell 
me all this ? " 

"Because I want 
you to abide the 
result of the operation. 11 

" How long, supposing 
goes well, shall I have to 

" Between three and si? 

4t I may be in my gr 

ft Not likely — you are already better* 
Nothing will be so good for you as 
hope. Live on hope for the next six 
months, and give your heir a chance." 

" You're a queer man," repeated the Squire. 
He said nothing further, but I knew by his 
manner that he was prepared to abide by the 
issue of the operation. 

I saw Mrs* Seymour soon afterwards, and 
explained to her as fully as I could the idea 
which had taken possession of me, 

My few words of the morning had already 
given her hope. She listened to me now 
with an enthusiasm which gave me as much 
pain as pleasure — her longings, her passionate 
desires, had already swept fear out of sight — 

Lve before 

she was eager, excited, restless, longing for 
me to try my skill upon the child, I told 
her that my idea was to divide certain por- 
tions of bone in the skull, so as to allow the 
closed-in brain to expand properly* 

** It seems to me," I said, " the common- 
sense view of the matter to take some steps 
to give the cramped brain room for expan- 
sion. The child is healthy* With extreme 
care, and with all that surgical skill can 
devise, 1 cannot see why such an operation 
should not succeed* At the same time I must 

not mince the 
matter ; if it fails, 
there is danger, 
great danger, to 

The boy was 
seated in a per- 
fectly impassive 
attitude on his 
mother's knee. 
She squeezed him 
close to her when 
I said this, and 
gave me a quick 
glance from an 
eye of fire* 

11 The operation 
will not fail," she 

il I believe it 
will succeed/ 1 I 
answered her* 
"In any ense, I 
should advise it. 
The child's pre- 
sent case is so 
hopeless and de- 
plorable that, in 
my opinion, very 
great risk is justi- 
fiable in any sur- 
gical interference 
which offers even 
a hope of cure." 
"I consent/* she exclaimed — she sprang 
up as she spoke, and still holding the boy to 
her breast, pulled one of his little arms round 
her neck — "I consent," she repeated. "If 
his father were alive, he would wish it. 
When can the operation be performed, Dr. 

" As soon as possible," I answered, " Your 
father is now out of danger Granted nothing 
unforeseen arises, he will completely recover 
from his accident — there is nothing to 
prevent my leaving him, more particularly 



who hopes to reach here this evening. I 
propose, therefore, that you and your boy 
return to London with me to-night. I can 
see Terrel, the surgeon whose assistance I 
wish to secure, to-morrow morning, and all 
arrangements for the operation can be quickly 

11 Very well," she replied, " I will be ready." 

That night Mrs. Seymour, her nurse, and 
the boy accompanied me to London. We 
arrived there soon after midnight. Mrs, 
Seymour had rooms in Baker Street ; and, 
when I saw her into a cab at Euston, I pro- 
mised to call there at an early hour on the 
following morning. 

I went to my own house to spend an almost 
sleepless night. Soon after eight o'clock on 
the following day I went off to see Terrel 
He was one of the cleverest surgeons of my 
acquaintance, and I was anxious to talk the 
matter over with him in all its bearings. He 
was startled and amazed at what I proposed 
to do t but after much argument and con- 
sultation, admitted that my plan was feasible, 
The obvious common-sense view of opening 
the skull to give the imprisoned brain room 
for expansion appealed to him forcibly. He 
offered to give me all the help in his power, 
and we decided to perform the operation the 
following day. 

I went straight from Terrel's house to Mrs. 
Seymour's lodgings, and told her of the arrange- 
ments we had made. She came to greet me 
with extended hands of welcome. The 
brightness of renewed hope still filled her 
eyes, but something in the expression of her 
face showed me that she had also passed a 
sleepless night 

Having described to her what preparations 
she ought to make, and further telling her 
that I would send in a good professional 
nurse to take charge of the case that evening, 
I went away. 

The next morning Terrel and I, accom- 
panied by the anaesthetist, arrived at the 
house. All was in readiness for the opera- 
tion, and when we entered the bedroom 
where it was to take place, Mrs. Seymour 
appeared almost immediately, carrying the 
little boy in her arms. 

" Kiss me," she said to him, eagerly— 
there was such passion in those words, that 
any spirit less firmly imprisoned must have 
responded to them. But light— light, was 
all that baby needed just then ; as usual, his 
eyes turned to it. The mother pressed him 
to her heart, printed two kisses on his 
brow, and put him into my arms. Her look 
of eloquent pain and hope almost unmanned 


me. As she was leaving the room I had to 
turn my head aside. 

Doctors, however, are a race of men who 
have little time to give way to mere senti- 
ment. I soon turned with eagerness to the 
delicate task which lay before me. The baby 
was put immediately under an anaesthetic, 
and when he was unconscious I proceeded 
quickly with the operation. Briefly, what I 
did was somewhat as follows : Having laid 
back the coverings of the skull over those 
parts where I proposed to divide the bone t 
the long openings and the shorter transverses 
were successfully accomplished without injury 
to the delicate membranes underneath them, 
and I had the satisfaction of seeing the 
trenches which I had formed widening under 
my manipulation. Every detail of antiseptic 
dressing was carried out with scrupulous 
care, and the operation was finished without 
any untoward event, It took altogether an 
hour and a half. When I laid the little 
fellow hack in his cot, and called the mother 
into the room, I felt sure that she knew by 
my face how hopeful 1 felt with regard to the 
result. She was white to the lips, however, 
and quite incapable of speech. 

I left the bonne with the most extraordi- 




narily mingled sensations of relief, triumph, 
and anxiety which I have ever experienced. 

The suspense of the next few days can better 
be imagined than described. The gradual but 
sure dawning of hope, the fact that no bad 
symptoms appeared, the joy with which we 
noticed that the child rallied well ! In three 
days my fears had nearly vanished. There 
was already an improvement in the child's 
intelligence— in a week's time this improve- 
ment was decisive. He no longer sat 
absolutely still — he began to take notice 
like other children— he ate and slept fairly 

On the tenth day I dressed the wound, 
which was healing fast 

One month after the operation I heard the 
boy laugh — he turned his head away, too, 
when I entered the room, and hid his face 
shyly against his mother's breast His 
behaviour, in short, was that of an ordinary 
infant of from six to eight months of age. 
Mrs. Seymour looked up at me on this occa- 
sion — my thoughts must have been plainly 
written on my.face — for the first time during 
all these trying days she burst into tears. 

" I cry because I am happy," she said, with 
a gasp in her voice. " He knows me, Dr. 
Halifax — babykno* j his mother — you have 
seen for yourself how he has just distin- 
guished between me and a comparative 

" I congratulate you from my heart," I 
replied. " So far the success of the operation 
has been magnificent, but I should like to 
wait a little longer before I say anything to 
the Squire." 

The months went by— the improvement in 
the child continued — the imprisoned brain 
developed with rapidity — the intellect seemed 
to expand with leaps and bounds. I saw the 
boy on his third birthday, and in every re- 
spect he was almost up to the average child 
of his age. I had made up my mind that the 
time had come to see Squire Norreys, when 
one day, a foggy one in late November, his 
card was put into my hand. I had just seen 
the last of my morning's patients, and was 
preparing to go out I desired the servant 
to show the Squire into my consulting-room 
immediately. I could not help starting when 
he entered the room. He was a splendid- 
looking man of a type fast dying out. His 
olive complexion, his black eyes, and sweep- 
ing black moustache were in strong contrast 
to his abundant white hair, which was cut 
close to his head. There was no trace of 
weakness or illness about him now — he 

walked into the room with a firm step, carry- 
ing his great height well. He gave me one 
of his keen glances and held out his hand. 

" How do you do ? " he said. " I happened 
to be in town, so I thought I'd call. I am, as 
you see, quite myself again." 

" I am delighted to see that you are," I 
answered. " It needs but a glance to tell 
me that you have made a splendid recovery. 
Won't you sit down ? " 

" I am rather in a hurry," he replied. He 
took a seat nevertheless and looked at me. I 
saw the question in his eyes which his lips 
refused to ask. 

"lam particularly glad to see you," I said. 
"The fact is, I was just about to write to 

" It occurred to me that I might hear from 
you about now," he answered, in a would-be 
careless tone. 

" Yes," I said, " I was going to propose to 
come to see you." 

" Then," said the Squire, his voice getting 
a little rough, " you have news about — about 
my grandson ? " 

"Yes," I said; "I should like you to see 

" Look here, Halifax," he exclaimed, 
eagerly, " is there any use in it ? With all your 
cleverness, you know, you can't give a child 
like that a mind. I came here to-day be- 
cause I gave you a sort of tacit promise that 
I w f ould take no steps with regard to my 
property for a few months' time, but this kind 
of thing can't go on. I don't wish to lay up 
anxieties for a future death-bed : all must be 
settled now." 

11 All shall be settled now," I said. " Will 
you stay here, or will you come back again 
within an hour ? " 

" What do you mean ? What folly is this ? " 

" Will you come back here within an hour 
and see your grandson ? After seeing him 
you can then decide at once and for ever the 
question which worries you." 

" You think him better, then ? " 

" I do." 

" Remember, no half-witted person shall 
inherit Hartley Castle." 

" The matter will lie in your own hands," 
I replied. " I should like you to see your 
grandson. I can bring him here within an 
hour ; will you wait to see him ? " 

"All right," he replied. 

My carriage was at the door — I jumped 
into it and drove straight to Baker Street. 
Mrs. Seymour was in. The boy was playing 
vigorously with a wooden cart and horse. 
He was using manly and emphatic action 


4 6 


with his wooden steed— he was, in fact, quite 
noisy and obstreperous. No trace of any 
wound disfigured his face — his wealth of 
beautiful curls was flung back from a white 

11 Capital," I said, as I entered li Now, 
Mrs. Seymour, I want to borrow this boy for 
an hour." 

"Why?" she asked. 

" His grandfather is waiting to see him at 
my house," 

" Oh, then, I'm coming too," 
she said at once, " My father 
shan J t have Cyril without me — I 
am resolved." 

I stared at her for a moment 
— then I said : " Very well ; get 
ready as fast as you can," 

In three minutes' time we 
were driving hack to Harley 
Street. The boy could not speak 
much yet, but he called his 
mother "Mummie," and con- 
stantly turned to look at her 
with eyes brim full of love. We 
entered the house, and I took 
the two straight into my con- 
sulting-room. The Squire started 
up when he saw them ; a look 
which 1 can scarcely find words 
to describe filled his eyes — a 
sort of starved look, of sudden 
rapture ; he scarcely glanced at 
the child, who walked as up- 
right as a little soldier by his 
mother's side ; all his gaze was 
given to her ; he made an effort 
to frown and to be severe, but 
it was a poor pretence, after all 

"Cyril, this is your grandfather," 
said Mrs. Seymour. " Come and 
speak to him at once," 

The Squire sank down again in his chair 
he was almost weak from emotion — not a 
single word, good or bad, had yet passed his 
lips- Mrs. Seymour took the child and 
placed him on his grandfathers knee. 

The little fellow turned and looked full up 
into the stern old face ; the mother knelt 
on the floor at his side. The boy's brow 

puckered — his lips pouted for a moment as 
if he would cry, then something bright 
attracted his eyes — he made a violent tug at 
his grandfather's chain, and pulled his watch 
out of his pocket With a laugh he turned 
to his mother, and held the watch to her ear. 

" Tick, tick, mummie," he said. 

"Ton my word, Fm blest," exclaimed the 

When he said these words I left the room. 


It goes without saying that all went right 
after that. When last I heard of Squire 
Norreys, I was given to understand that he 
was much bullied by his grandson, who, in 
short, r u I e s ever y o n e a t Ha r t ley Cas t le . Mrs. 
Seymour, who, of course, is completely recon- 
ciled to her father, told me this in her last 

by Google 

Original from 

Some Curiosities of Modem Photography. 


By William G. FitzGerald. 

F all the applications of modern 
science, none is more interest- 
ing than the use of the 
camera as an aid to the detec- 
tive. Here, to begin with, is 
an instance at once simple 
and amusing, showing how a suspicious photo- 
maniac at Margate photographed his joint of 
mutton in order to confound his pilfering 
landlady (Figs* r and 2}. 

The secret of the daring and successful 
forgeries on Glyn's Bank was, as we all 
know, revealed by photography. The draft 
was made out for ^48, but words, figures, and 
even perforations were punched clean out of 
the paper, and new pulp made and inserted. 
The human eye was absolutely unable to 
detect that the draft had been tampered with, 
yet a photograph showed the faint lines of 
the new pulp quite plainly. The forged 
draft was for ^4,800, 

Putty used by burglars in removing panes of 
glass; sections of banis- 
ters ; drinking glasses 
and newspapers have 
been photographically 
treated, the finger im- 
pressions being carefully 
compared with those of 
suspects in every case. 
I am bound to say, how- 
ever, that in this country 
*e are slow to introduce 
the marvels of modern 
science into our warfare 
against the expert crimi- 
nal We have no eminent chemist like Dr. 
Jeserich, of Berlin, who has for more than 
thirteen years been engaged in continuous 
conflict with the enemies 
of society. Like his 
teamed predecessor and 
teacher, Professor Son- 
nenschein f Dr. Jeserich 
takes rank among the 
greatest photographic 
detectives of the civilized 
world ; and I propose to 
give as briefly as possible 
a few of the curious cases 
that have come under his 

Dr. Jeserich resorted 
to photography, or photo- 


microgmphy, in order to have the whip- 
hand of other experts who disputed his 
microscopical observations. Eleven years ago 
a peculiarly atrocious murder was committed 
in Westphalia, and a small white hair was 
forwarded to Dr. Jeserich for examination. 
This hair was found upon the body of the 
victim— a girl— and was held to be of great 
importance, seeing that the accused murderer 
was a grey haired and bearded man. A hair 
from the beard of the latter was also forwarded 
for comparison* 

The photo-micrographs certainly showed 
that the hairs were in some respects alike. 
Both had the same pith in the centre ; both 
had the same air-channels, scales, and hollow 
spaces f and a certain fine structure of surface 
was common to both hairs under examina- 
tion. For all that, the expert* looking at his 
photos.* pronounced the hair found on the 
body to be that of an animal, solely because 
the pith extended to nearly the whole width 
of the shaft. 

But what animal? 
Further experiments 
showed that the hair 
had been plucked from 
a dog : in every case 
photo -micrographs were 
compared ; and, this fact 
ascertained, the case grew 
with amazing swiftness in 
the expert's hands; 

From its colour the 
hair belonged to a yellow 
dog that was growing old ; 
its circular section and smoothness showed 
that it belonged to a smooth-hatred dog ; 
and from the undipped point it was deduced 
that the animal's hair had 
never been cut Thus a 
description of the dog 
was worded as follows : 
" An old, yellow, un- 
shaven, smooth - haired, 
and comparatively short- 
haired dog." 

The man under arrest 
for this murder was 
liberated on Dr. Jeserich's 
evidence. Barely a year 
later suspicion fell upon 
pother person, who 

DROUGHT IT l,f> AfcAl 

4 8 



coinciding with the above description. More 
scientific investigations followed, and about 
two months after his arrest the man confessed 
that he had murdered the girl. 

That it is possible to see from the point 
of a hair that it his never been cut is shown 
by Fig. 3, which is a reproduction of the cut 
and re-grown point of a human hair, the 
three hairs at the right of it having never 
been cut. The photograph shown in Fig. 4 
was prepared from the hairs of the victim 
(a woman) in another murder case. On the 
clothes of the two men arrested on suspicion 
were found certain hairs, and it was Dr. 
Jeserich's duty to ascertain whether these 
hairs corresponded with hairs taken from 
the head of the murdered woman, 

A photograph of the point of a hair found 


on one of the accused demonstrated scienti- 
fically that it had been taken from the victim's 
head. Indeed, not only was the point 
identical, but the shaft and root also coincided 
Fig. 5 shows the well-defined, club-like root of 
this hair —a little thing, indeed, on which to 
decide life or death. 

Fig. 6 shows the root of the hair found 

upon the second suspect. One more photo- 
mi crographic experiment convinced Dr, 
Jeserich that this was the man's own hair. 
As illustrating the wondrous accuracy of these 
investigations, it is interesting to learn that 
suspect number one confessed his crime a 
few hours before his death on the scaffold. 

" Are the spots upon the clothes blood ? " 
asks the Court of the expert; "and, moreover, 
is it human blood ? " Here again micro- 
scopic photographs of bloodstains are made, 
and handed round in order that judge and 
jury may have ocular demonstration of the 
difference between the blood of birds, 
amphibia, and fishes, and that of animals 
and human beings. The corpuscles of the 


former are long and elliptical in shape, whilst 
those of the latter are circular (Fig. 7). The 
difference between the blood corpuscles of 
animals and men must be inferred from the 
size, and not from the shape. Photo- 
micrography has revealed that there are 
about 150 million corpuscles in a drop 
of human blood, each corpuscle having an 
appreciable diameter of 80- 10,000th of a 
millimetre. Of domesticated animals, the 
blood of a dog shows the next largest 





corpuscles, their diameter being 68-ro,oooth 
of a millimetre. 

Here is another of Dr + Jeserich's cases. 
A murderer, upon whose axe marks of blood 
had been found, declared he had killed a 
goat eight days before his arrest; human 
blood corpuscles, however, were found upon 
the axe, and were photographically compared 
with authentic goat's blood. In this case, 
photography, besides plainly showing the 
difference between the corpuscles, brought 
other evidence by proclaiming that the 
axe had been wiped after the deed* One 
photograph, produced at the trial, showed 
a place in point — much magnified— on the 
steel of the axe. It indicated plainly the 
streaks caused by wiping. 

The practical application of photography 
to the detection of the falsification of hand- 
writing is extremely interesting. In enlarged 
photographic pictures, erasures, alterations T 
and subtle differences in inks are clearly 

Fig, 8 shows a portion of a bill of exchange. 
No special difference in the writing is notice- 
able, not even in the word "April," The 
ink appears to be everywhere of the same 
colour, and this photo, appears to the eye to 
be identical with the original itself. 

The expert, however, has photographed 
the word " April w (Fig. 9) by means of colour 

another on a bill ; manipulations of figures 
upon cheques have been proved on several 
occasions ; and even tricky Austro-Prussian 
drovers, who alter dates on their cattle 
quarantine permits, are bowled out while 
they are chuckling over their own astuteness. 

One more instance, showing how photo- 
graphy cleared an innocent man, A forester 
was found dead in a wood, and by his side 
was found part of a vulcanite match-box, 
which bore certain scratches suggestive of 
letters. The Public Prosecutor arrested one 
Gottlieb Graeber, and sent the box to Dr, 
Jeserich to see if that expert could decipher 
the name of the suspected man thereon. 
The eminent chemist powdered the match- 
box with fine lycopodium and then wiped it 
carefully, so that the fine white particles 
remained in the scratches. An enlarged 
photograph of the box in this condition 
showed that the name engraved was not 
Gottlieb Graeber, but Adolf Langer, The 
latter worthy was subsequently hanged. 

Dr. Jeserich was once called upon to say 
whether a certain old man, whose charred 
remains were found in the ruins of his house, 
had been alive when the house took fire. It 
was something of a poser ; but after procuring 
a bare ten drops of blood from the old man's 
heart* the chemist tested them spectro- 
scopically and found no trace of carbonic 


sensitive plates, which intensify the difference 
of colour in inks. Here one can plainly see 
that a falsification has taken place at the word 
" April/' and it is possible to follow, line by 
line, the various kinds of ink used* The 
cross line of the " A " ; the upper corner as 
well as the down -stroke of the " p"; the whole 
of the curved part of the *'p/ J and the first 
part of the "r' J ; the dot of the "i"; and the 
down-stroke of the ( M," have been made 
with a different ink and added to the original 

It is evident that instead of April, the 
word "Mai" (May) was originally written. 
In this case it was the forger's intention to 
make the bill payable at an earlier date. 

Dr. Jeserich has had many cases of this 

kind One name has been found under 
Vol 1^-7. 


oxide in the blood; consequently the old 
man must have been dead when the fire 
broke out, 

I may say that the forger can never hope 
to baffle photography* Captain Abney T CB., 
the vice-president of the Royal Photographic 
Society, was once requested to examine an 
engraving for a famous and titled collector. 
By means of photography, he brought out 
the original signature under a spurious one, 
which had been added to increase the value. 

Nor is it generally known that at Water- 
low's, the famous bank-note and cheque 
printers, there is a staff of photographic 
experts, who practically defend the Govern- 
ments of the world against the skilful forger. 
This being so, it was clearly my duty to call 
upon Waterl^f^j^jfiief expert, Mr. J, D. 




Geddes, and this gentleman I have to thank 
for much valuable information. 

I am indebted to the courtesy of Mr, 
Phillip Waterloo for the accompanying repro- 
ductions, showing bank-notes with and with- 
out a protective printing (Fig, io) + The illus- 
tration shows two note designs cut in half 
diagonally and joined. The upper portion 
shows effective photographing of the design 
when no protective printing is employed. 
The lower half shows non-effective attempt 
to photograph the same design when pro- 
tected against photographic copying. It is 
by no means generally known that our own 
Bank of England notes can be reproduced in 
absolute facsimile— even to the watermarks — 

the Bank's sheet-anchor, and, I venture to 
say, a very reliable one at that 

Foreign Governments frequently send 
specimens of new issues of bank-notes to 
U'aterlow's, in order that the experts may find 
by photography whether it is possible to forge 
such notes. A fourth-rate Continental Power 
rtcently ordered a series of bank-notes from 
an Austrian firm, and after having been 
assured that they were not forgeable, even by 
photography, the notes were put in circula- 

Presently the whole country was inundated 
with bogus notes of marvellously clever design, 
whereupon the entire issue was called in, and 
a few specimens forwarded to Messrs. 


by means of photography, Mr* J. Traill 
Taylor, editor of the British Journal of 
Photography^ than whom, by the way, there 
is no more eminent expert in the world, 
tells trie he was once sent for by the chief 
engraver at the Bank of England. 

The latter gentleman placed men, materials, 
and, above all, paper, at Mr + Taylor's disposal, 
and requested him to produce a few photo- 
graphically forged five -pound notes, which 
would subsequently be tendered at the Bank 
counter. When the amiable Scotsman had 
finished, however, the last-named test was 
deemed wholly unnecessary, so perfectly 
accurate were the photographic notes. "Our 
sole protection," murmured the chief engraver, 
" lies in our paper/ 1 The paper, indeed, is 

mper/' The paper, indeed, 

Digitized by v_*GOQK 

Waterlow, to see if, after all, the note could 
really be reproduced by photography. 

The result was interesting. The note had 
a violet surface with a so-called protective 
under-printing of orange, meant to baffle the 
camera. Nevertheless, the London firm's 
expert staff quickly " got behind " the protec- 
tion by using— as the forgers must have done 
— colour-blind plates. Specimens and photo- 
graphic reproductions were then sent to the 
aggrieved Government, who subsequently 
requested Messrs. Waterlow to prepare an 
absolutely unforgeable note, if such a thing 
were possible, and forward samples* 

The note produced in answer to this 
appeal must have been a disagreeable surprise 
to many expert forgers, By means of print- 




ing in certain salts 
of iron and other 
chemicals , the word 
" Counterfeit " ap- 
peared right across 
the face of every 
one photographed ; 
yet on any one 
original it was im- 
possible to detect 
anything unusual 

Banks occasion- 
ally send in cheques 
to Waterloo's pho- 
tographic staff for 
investigation. No 
matter how well 
words and figures 
have been obliter- 
ated by means of 
chloride of lime 
and oxalic acid, the 
searching eye of the 
camera, appealed to by the iron in the 
original ink, brings out the visually invisible 
characters. Even when Chinese white pig- 
ment is used for obliterating purposes, the 
photographic eye pierces through. The 
French Government, I learn, suffered severely 
until it adopted a special paper into which 


strong fibre-like 
hair is woven. This 
again defeats the 
forger, since the 
hairs are so strongly 
marked in facsimi- 
les, that a child 
could detect the 

Fig. it shows a 
milkman in St, 
James's Park 
caught in the very 
act of adulterating 
his milk. This is 
a snap-shot taken 
by Mr. T. C. Hep- 
worth, of the Photo- 
graphic Nnvs. Fig. 
rz shows an extra- 
ordinary photo- 
graph taken by a 
burglar, and subsequently sent to the makers 
of the safe that resisted his efforts. 

Coming to the curious uses of photography, 
I enter upon such a vast field that I am 
constrained to be brief to the verge of 
abruptness. Wives have cured intemperate 
husbands by taking snap-shots of their lords 






in a state of intoxication, and producing the 
photos, at breakfast-time. Mighty bridges 
are tested by taking two photographs on one 
negative, a heavy train being run across while 
the second is being taken, so that the sag or 
depression is shown on the plate. Battle- 
ships and great buildings in course of con- 
struction are periodically photographed in 
order that the authorities at head-quarters may 
see at a glance what progress is being made. 

This reminds me that Lieutenant Walter 
Basset, director of the great firm of Mauds- 
lay, Son, and Field, whose business is the 
engining of warships, tells me that photos, 
of machinery are constantly being sent to 
Japan, China, and remote parts of the world ; 
and that sales up to a quarter of a million 
sterling are effected through such photo- 
graphs. Moreover, these engineers take 
photographs of the condition of certain 
contracts on stated days, and claim instal- 
ments thereon from foreign Governments. 

From this it is a far cry to photography as 
a check upon the would-be baby farmer. 
Yet persons who leave their children with 
professional nurses while travelling, often 
require an annual, or even monthly, photo,, 
showing the little one ? s condition. Illegible 

ancient manuscripts have been deciphered by 
powdering them with fine talc, and then 
taking a sharp photo. The British Museum, 
too, in many cases exhibit only autotype 
copies of such precious documents as the 
Magna Charta, keeping the original safely 
under lock and key. 

Time was, indeed, when the British juror 
accepted a photograph as incontrovertible 
evidence ; but everyone who is acquainted 
with the science knows that a photograph can 
be made to tell almost any story the operator 
pleases. When Mr. Gladstone on one 
occasion spoke of the absolute accuracy of 
photography, a humorous, if somewhat 
libellous, expert produced a photograph 
showing the right honourable gentleman loaf- 
ing outside a low public-house in the Seven 
Dials, his hat at a rakish angle, and his 
appearance suggestive of the hilarity of intoxi- 
cation. Personally, I have seen a lying 
photograph of Little Tich giving a command 
performance at Osborne, Blackmail by 
photography, by the way, is not unknown, 
since heads can be easily transposed. I 
reproduce here a photograph of a bogus 
mirage taken by the well-known instantaneous 
amateur, Mr* A. R. Dresser, of Bexley 


J I II Ml II kj 






(Fig. 13). Editors are loth to believe wonders 
described by un veracious correspondents, but 
I myself have seen more than one account of a 
supposed mirage in the daily papers. Possibly 
the narrators have forwarded photos, in 
support of their story* The reproduction 
shows a view of St Malo, in Brittany, the 
mirage being a vessel passing through the 
Arctic regions! This is done by double 

Photo-micrography is a fascinating subject. 
Apart from its value as a detective agency^ it 
is of incalculable utility to the chemist and 
the physician. In Fig. 14 I show a minute 
drop of London drinking-water, magnified 
750 diameters, Fig. 15 is a drop of stagnant 
water, wherein one may see the lash by which 
the microbe moves. The 
lash of the microbe has a 
diameter of 1- 200,000th of 
an inch, 

Astounding as the state- 
ment may appear, Mr. 
Andrew Pringte, who sup- 
plied me with these photos,, 
has a veritable farm, or in- 
cubator, on his premises 
for the purpose of propa- 
gating the deadly germs of 
diphtheria, cholera, and 
other kinds of frightful 
ailments. Mr. Pringle keeps 
his incubator always at body 
heat, and his queer u stock ' 
are to be seen in glass 
tubes, neatly labelled* 

Mr. Pringle's photo- 
mi crographic apparatus cost 

160 guineas; and his mode of photograph- 
ing his " subjects " is somewhat peculiar. 
The bacteria are first spread on glass, and 
then stained with aniline dyes, after which 
the plates of glass are washed ; the bacteria, 
however, retain the colouring matter iSuper- 
Aug us microbes are destroyed by fire or 
sulphuric acid, I sincerely hope that my 
worthy informant will not meet the fate of 
Dr. Oestel, assistant at the Hygienian Institute 
of Hamburg, who died of Asiatic cholera, 
contracted while experimenting with infected 
water from the Vistula. He> too, had a little 
farm for breeding bacilli. 

A most extraordinary experiment was 
recently essayed by Professor Marshall Ward, 
F.R.S* He took a sheet of glass, coated it 
with gelatine, and inocu- 
lated it with bacteria, which 
he allowed to grow until 
the surface was practically 
covered. The professor then 
exposed this sheet under a 
negative., and wherever the 
light penetrated the bacteria 
were killed ; wherein is a 
useful moral Professor 
Ward afterwards exhibited 
the sheet of glass, which 
was In reality a photo- 
graphic landscape taken on 
the bodies y so to speak, of 
myriads of microbes* 

Here is one of the most 

marvellous photographic 

curios that has come under 

rny notice ; it is a photo 

^Wd^taken from the eye 







Quite 50 per cent of the students 
at our hospitals now adopt photography 
as a means of recording the details of 
abnormal cases, such as those of goitre, 
a peculiar swelling to which workmen 
in the limestone districts are subject, 
and cretinism, or semi-idiocy, to which 
the Swiss are liable. There is no joke 
here ; cretinism is induced either by 

fig. 17, — atovntEsT of Lirs in saving 

of a defunct beetle, by Pro- 
fessor Exmer, of Vienna, in 
order to see whether the 
insect's faceted eyes projected 
one or many images on to the 
retina (Fig, 16). The expert 
set about his extraordinary 
task in the following way : 
First of all, of course, he 
caught his beetle, dissected 
the eye from the body, and 
placed it in glycerine on the 
slide of a microscope. Then 
he directed the slide towards 
rlie window of the laboratory 
— on a pane of which, by the 
way, he had pasted the letter 
R« The window is quite 
plainly seen. The R is com- 
paratively distinct, too* and 
one gets a hazy glimpse of 
a church outside. 1 am in- 
debted for this photograph 
to Mr. E. J. Wall, of the 
Amateur Photographer* 

» 19,— A FLASH UF LlbHl.MNi., 

FIG. l3.— fllOTlON OP AK INDIA -Rl'ULrit BALT rf 

carrying heavy weights on the bend, or by 
the use of water derived from melted snow. 

The action of the human heart, the interior 
of the stomach, and the larynx are now 
photographed during life. Dr. R, Wagner's 
method of photographing the larynx consists 
of an arrangement of mirrors, the flash being 
provided by a magnesium ribbon lamp. The 
si^e of the actual photos, produced in this 
way was o - 36in. by 048m. ; they were, of 
course, subsequently enlarged. 

The very movements of the lips are photo- 
graphed in such rapid succession, that by the 
aid of the zoetrope, sentences can be read 
from the pictures by those who are trained to 
read the Hprianguagev: The accompanying 
series, kindlf1ffi^ftt tr M] E. J. Wall, show 





the movements necessary to 
say u Jc vou$ aime n {I love 
you) — Fig, 17. More wonderful 
still, the noises of the earth 
have been photographed by 
the Italian scientist, Signor 
Baratta, who employed an 
ingenious instrument consist- 
ing of a subterranean micro- 
phone, connected with a 
telephone diaphragm. In the 
face of these photographic 
miracles it is positively re- 
freshing to turn to a case in 
which the camera was baffled. 
Oddly enough, the victor is 
— or rather was, for the diffi- 
culty has been overcome — 
the immortal Turner, whose 
series of seventy-two plates 
(** Liber Studiorum") cost a 
fortune to properly reproduce. 
The great difficulty lay in 
getting a photograph which 
should adequately reproduce 
the effect of the black-browns 
and incised lines of die original. 
The plates for this expensive 


\*\:V .\K ■ %** IN I 'i l-FO.'L ^. 

and tedious experiment were 
lent by the Rev* Stopford 

Here is another curious 
photo, placed at my disposal 
by Mr. Wall. A man has 
mounted a step ladder and 
let fall an india-rubber ball, 
which has been photographed 
at intervals during its passage 
to the ground, and even after 
its rebound (Fig- 18). 

I will merely mention such 
photographic curiosities as 
Francis Gal ton's composite 
system, whereby members of 
a class of society are photo- 
graphed singly and then 
blended to obtain a typical 
character ; a man being hanged 
(he is falling through the pit, 
his face is enveloped in a 
white cloth, and one of his 
slippers has preceded him by 
a few feet ; this was taken in 
Germany); and lightning 
flashes, simplest of all instan- 
^•t&Hi&ul 1 ,: "tJTi otographs: just 





place your camera in the window, wait for 
the flash, and then develop your plate (Fig. 
19). The double flash I reproduce, by the 
way, set fire to a huge factory ; and after 
he had photographed the cause, Mr, A. R. 
Dresser went forth next morning and secured 
a picture of the result, 

I have also seen Professor Marey's 
photo-chronographs of 
flying insects, obtained 
by an exposure lasting 
the 1 -2 5, oooth part of 
a second ; and photo- 
graphs of Mont Blanc, 
taken by M. Boissonais 
with a tele-photo- 
graphic Dallmeyer lens 
at a distance of fifty-six 
miles, the exposure last* 
ing seven minutes (Fig. 
20), Captain Abney, 
the Royal Photographic 
Society's learned vice- 
president, has suc- 
ceeded in taking weird 
moonlight photographs 
of Chamounix from his hotel window. 

I will include in tny list the beautiful 
pictures of falling water taken by Lord 
Rayleigh, with an electric spark (Fig, 21). 


1 wish to gratefully acknowledge here the 
courtesy extended to me by that eminent 
and popular scientist. I have also been 
able to reproduce Professor Worrtrington's 
wonderful photographs of a drop of water 
falling into a vessel of milk. The professor 
adopted Lord Rayleigh's method, the dura- 
tion of the Ley den jar spark being the 
1 -1 00, oooth of a second The drop of water 


is first shown falling (Hg. 22), then it is seen 
striking the surface of the milk (Fig, 33) and 
throwing up little drops from a sort of crater 
(Fig, 24), and lastly, a column of liquid raises 
itself (Fig. 25), after which the drop subsides. 



(To be continued.) 

by Google 

Original from 

By "Q." 

HEN first the Trinity Brothers 
put a lightship out yonder by 
the Gunnel Rocks, it was just 
a trifling affair— none of your 
new-fangled boats with a crew 
of twelve or fourteen hands — 
and my father and I used to tend it, Liking 
turn and turn with two other fellows from the 
Islands. The rule then — they have altered it 
since — was tw T o months afloat and two ashore; 
and all the time we tossed out there, on duty, 
not a soul would we see, to speak to, except 
when the Trinity boat put off with stores for 
us and, better still, with news of what was 
doing in the world, This would be about 
once a fortnight in fair weather ; but through 
the winter time it was oftener a month, and 
provisions ran low enough, now T and then, to 
make us anxious. Was the life dreary ? 
Well, you couldn't call it gay : but all the 
same, you see, it didn't kill me* 

For the first week I thought the motion 
would drive me crazy — up and down, up and 
down, in that everlasting ground-swell — 
although I had been at the fishing all my life, 
and knew what it meant to lie-to in a stiffish 
sea for hours together. But after ten 
Vol* lx^-9, 

days or so I got not to mind it And 
then there was the open air. It was 
different with the poor fellows on the 
lighthouse, eighteen miles to seaward of us, 
to the south-west They drew better pay 
than ours, by a trifle ; but they were lands- 
men, to start with ; and cooped in that narrow 
tower at night, with the shutters closed and 
the whole building set rocking like a tree 
with every stroke of the seas, it's no wonder 
their nerves wore out Four or five days of it 
have been known to finish a man; and in 
those times a lighthouse -keeper had three 
months of duty straight away, and only a 
fortnight on shore. Now he gets only 
a fortnight out there, and six weeks to recover 
in. With all that, they're mostly fit to start 
at their own shadow 7 when the boat takes 
them off. 

But on the lightship we fared tolerably 
enough* To begin with, we had the lantern 
to attend to. You'd be surprised how much 
employment that gives a man — cleaning, 
polishing, and trimming. And my father t 
though particular even to a scratch on the 
reflector, or the smallest crust of salt on the 



bide with. Not talkative, you understand — 
no light-keeper in the world was ever talka- 
tive — but with a power of silence that was 
more comforting than speech. And out 
there, too, we found all sorts of little friendly 
things to watch and think over. Sometimes 
a school of porpoises, that played around us ; 
or a line of little murrs flying ; or a sail far 
to the south, moving up Channel. And 
sometimes, towards evening, the fishing boats 
would come out and drop anchor a mile and 
a half to southward, down sail, and hang out 
their riding lights ; and we knew that they 
took their mark from us, and that gave a 
sociable feeling. 

On clear afternoons, too, when the lantern 
was lowered, by swarming up the mast just 
beneath the cage I could see the Islands 
away in the east, with the sun on their cliffs ; 
and home wasn't so far off, after all. The 
town itself, which lay low down on the shore, 
we could never spy, but glimpsed the lights of 
it, now and then, after sunset. These always 
flickered a great deal, because of the waves, 
like little hills of water, bobbing between 
them and us. Then we had the lighthouse. 
In day-time, through the glass, we could 
watch the keepers walking about in the iron 
gallery round the top : and all night through, 
if we wanted company, there it was beckon- 
ing to us with its three white flashes every 
minute. No, we weren't exactly gay out 
there, and sometimes we made wild weather 
of it. Yet we managed pretty comfortably, 
except for the fogs, when our arms ached 
with keeping the gong going. 

But if we were comfortable then, you 
should have seen us at the end of our two 
months, when the boat came off with the 
relief, and took us on shore. John and 
Robert Pendlurian were the names of the 
relief; brothers they were, oldsters of about 
fifty-five and fifty ; and John Pendlurian, the 
elder, a widow-man, same as my father, but 
with a daughter at home. Living in the 
Islands, of course I'd known Bathsheba ever 
since we'd sat in infant-school side by side ; 
and what more natural than to ask after her 
health, along with the other news ? But Old 
John got to look sly and wink at my father 
when we came to this question, out of the 
hundred others. And the other two would 
take it up and wink back, solemn as mummers. 
I never lost my temper with the old idiots : 
'twasn't worth while. 

But the treat of all was to set foot on 
the quay-steps, and the people crowding 
round and shaking your hand and chattering ; 
and everything ashore going on just as you'd 

left it, and you not wishing it other, and 
everybody glad to see you all the same ; and 
the smell of the gardens and the stinking fish 
at the quay-corner — you might choose 
between them, but home was in both ; 
and the nets drying ; and to be out of oil- 
skins and walking to meeting-house on the 
Sunday, and standing up there with the 
congregation, all singing in company, and 
the women taking stock of you till the 
newness wore off; and the tea-drinking, 
and Band of Hopes, and courants, and 
dances ! We had all the luck of these ; for 
the two Pendlurians, being up in years and 
easily satisfied so long as they were left quiet, 
were willing to take their holidays in the dull 
months, beginning with February and March. 
And so I had April and May, when a man 
can always be happy ashore ; and August 
and September, which is the best of the 
fishing and all the harvest and harvest games ; 
and again, December and January, with the 
courants and geesy-dancicig, and carols and 
wassail-singing. Early one December, when 
he came to relieve us, Old John said to me 
in a hap-hazard way, " It's all very well for 
me and Robert, my lad ; for us two can take 
equal comfort in singin' ' Star d BethPem ' 
ashore or afloat ; but I reckon 'tis somebody's 
place to see that Bathsheba don't miss any 
of the season's joy an' dancin' on our 

Now, Bathsheba had an unmarried aunt — 
Aunt Hessy Pendlurian we called her— that 
used to take her to all the parties and cou- 
rants when Old John was away at sea. So 
she wasn't likely to miss any of the fun, bein' 
able to foot it as clever as any girl in the 
Islands. She had the love of it, too— foot and 
waist and eyes all a-dancing, and body and 
blood all a-tingle as soon as ever the fiddle 
began to speak. But maybe this same speech 
of Old John's set me thinking. Or, maybe I'd 
been thinking already ; what with their May- 
game hints and the loneliness out there. Any- 
way, I dangled pretty close on Bathsheba's 
heels all that Christmas. She was comely — 
you understand — very comely and tall, with 
dark blood, and eyes that put you in mind 
of a light shining steady upon dark water. 
And good as gold. She's dead and gone 
these twelve years — rest her soul. But 
(praise God for her !) I've never married 
another woman, nor wanted to. 

There, I've as good as told you already. 
When the time came and I asked her if she 
liked me, she said she liked no man half so 
well : and that being as it should be, the 
next thing was 10 put up the banns. There 





wasn't time that holiday : like a fool, I had 
been dilly-dallying too long, though I believe 
now I might have asked her a month before, 
So the wedding was held in the April follow- 
ing, my father going out to the Gunnel for a 
couple of days, so that Old John might be 
ashore to give his daughter away. The most 
I mind of the wedding was the wonder of 
beholding the old chap there in a long- tailed 
coat, having never seen him for years but in 
his oilskins* 

Well* the rest of that year seemed pretty 
much like all the others, except that coming 
home was better than ever. But when 
Christmas went by, and February came and 
our turn to be out on the Gunnel, 1 went with 
a dismal feeling I hadn't known before* The 
fact is, Bathsheba was drawing near her time, 
and the sorrow was that she must go through 
it without me. She had walked down to the 
quay with us, to see us off ; and all the way 
she chattered and laughed with my father as 
cheerful as cheerful — but never letting her 
eyes rest on me, I noticed, and I saw what 
that meant : and when it came to good-bye, 
there was a catch in her breathing and a 
quick, short tightening of her arms about me 
that I'd never known before. 

The old man, I reckon, had a wisht time 
with me, the next two or three weeks ; but, 

by the mercy o' God* the weather behaved 
furious all the while, leaving a man no time 
to mope. Twas busy all, and busy 
enough, to keep a clear light in the lantern, 
and warm souls inside our bodies. All 
through February it blew hard and cold from 
the north and north-west, and though we lay 
in the very mouth of the Gulf Stream, for ten 
days together there wasn't a halliard we could 
touch with the naked hand, nor a cloth nor 
handful of cotton-waste but had to be 
thawed at the stove before using. Then, 
with the beginning of March, the wind 
tacked round to south-west, and stuck 
there, blowing big guns, and raising a 
swell that was something crueL It was one 
of those gales that tore aw + ay the bell from 
the lighthouse, though hung just over a 
hundred feet above water-level As for us, I 
wonder now how the lightship held by its 
three-ton anchors, there being three hundred 
fathom of chain cable exposed to the strain 
and jerk of it ; but with the spindrift whipping 
our faces, and the hail cutting them, w T e 
didn't seem to have time to think of that 
Bathsheba thought of it, though, in her bed 
at home — as I've heard since — and lay awake 
more than one night thinking of it. 

But the third week in March the weather 



I began to think. On the second afternoon 
of the fair weather 1 climbed up under the 
cage and saw the Islands for the first time ; 
and coming down, I said to my father: — 

" Suppose that Bathsheba is dead ! n 

We hadn't said more than a word or two 
to each other for a week ; indeed, till yester- 
day we had to shout in each other's ear to 
be heard at all My father filled a pipe and 
said, " Don't be a fooL" 

" I see your hand shaking/' said I. 

Said he, ** That's with the cold. At my 
age the cold takes a while to leave a man's 

w But," I went on in an obstinate way, 
" suppose she is dead ? n 

My father ans- 
wered, " She is a 
well -built woman. 
The Lord is 

Not another 
word than this 
could I get from 
him. That even- 
ing — the wind 
now coming easy 
from the south, 
and the swell 
gone down in a 
wonderful way — 
as I was boiling 
water for the tea, 
we saw a dozen 
f ish i n g-boats 
standing out from 
the Islands. They 
ran down to 
within two miles 
of us and then 
hove- to. The 
nets went out, 
and the sails came down, 
through the glass I could 
coming up from their cuddy-stoTes 

" They might have brought news/' I cried 
out, " even if 'tis sorrow ! " 

" Maybe there was no news to bring/' 

" J Twould have been neighbourly, then, 
to run down and say so." 

"And run into the current here, I suppose? 
With a chance of the wind falling light at any 

I don't know if this satisfied my father ; 
but I know that he meant it to satisfy me, 
which it was pretty far from doing, Before 
daylight the boats hoisted sail again, and 
were well under the Islands and out of sight 
by breakfast-time, 

After this, for a whole long week I reckon 
I did little more than pace the ship to and 
fro ; a fisherman's walk, as they say — three 
steps and overboard. I took the three steps 
and wished I was overboard. My father 
watched me queerty all this while; but we 
said no word to each other, not even at 

It was the eighth day after the fishing-boats 
left us, and about four in the afternoon, that 
we saw a brown sail standing towards us from 
the Islands, and my father set down the glass, 
resting it on the gunwale, and said : — - 

"That's Old John's boat" 

I took the glass from him, and was putting 

and by-and-hy 
spy the smoke 


it to my eye ; but had to lay it down and 
turn my back. I couldn't wait there with my 
eye on the boat ; so I crossed to the other 
side of the ship and stood staring at the light- 
house away on the sky-line, and whispered : 
" Oh, come quickly ! " But the wind had 
moved a couple of points to the west and 
then fallen very light, and the boat must 
creep towards us close-hauled. After a long 
while my father spoke again : — 

" That will be Old John stecrin' her. I 
reckoned so ; he've a -put up his helm — that's 
it : sail her full till she strikes the current 
and that'll ferch her down, wind or no wind. 

Halloa!, lad! 'tis all right! See 

there, that bit tf-^^i^nsign run up to the 




" Why should that mean aught ? " asked I. 

"Would he trouble to hoist bunting if he 
had no news? Would it be there, close 
under the peak, if the news was bad?— and 
she his own daughter, his only flesh ! n 

It may have been twenty minutes later 
that Old John felt the Gunnel current, and 
staying the cutter round, came down fast on 
us with the wind behind his heam. My 
father hailed to him once and twice, and the 
second time he must have heard. But, with- 
out answering, he ran forward and took in 
his foresail And then I saw an arm 
and a little hand reached up to take 
hold of the tiller; and my heart gave a 
great jump* 

It was she, my wife Bathsheba, laid there by 
the stem-sheets on a spare-sail, with a bundle 
of oilskins to cushion her. With one hand 
she steered the boat up into the wind as Old 
John lowered sail and they drifted alongside : 
and with the other she held a small bundle 
close against her breast. 

"Such a whackin' boy I never see'd in my 
life ! " — these were Old John's first words, 
and he shouted them. " Born only yestiddy 
week, an' she ought to be abed : an* so IVe 
been tell in J her ever since she dragged me out 
*pon this wildygo errand !" 

But Bathsheba, as 
I lifted her over the 
lightship's side, said 
no more than " O, 
Tom ! " — and let me 
hold her, with her 
forehead pressed close 
against me. And the 
others kept very quiet, 
and everything was 
quiet about us, until 
she jumped back on a 
sudden and found all 
her speech in a flood. 

" Tom," she said, 
"you're crushin' him, 
you great, awkward 
man!" And she 
turned back the shawl 
and snatched the 
handkerchief off the 
baby's face— a queer- 
look in' face it w T as, 

but he kicks my side all to bruises ; my 
merryun, my giant ! Look up at your father, 
and you his very image ! " That was pretty 
stiff, "I declare," she says, " he's lookin' 
about an* takin' stock of everything n — and 
that was pretty stiff, too. " So like a man ; 
all for the sea and the boats ! Tom, dear, 
father will tell you that all the way on the 
water he was as good as gold ; and, on shore 
before that, kicking and fisting — all for the 
sea and the boats ; the man of him ! Hold 
him, dear, but be careful ! A Sunday's 
child, too — 

Sunday's child is full of grace. 
And — the awkward you are ! Here, give him 
back to me : but feel how far down in his 
clothes the feet of him reach. Extra or dinar' ! 
Aun' Hessy mounted a chair and climbed 
'pon the chest o* drawers with him, before 
takin ? him downstairs; so that hell go up 
in the world, an' not down." 

tfc If he wants to try both," said I, "he'd 
best follow his father and grandfathers, and 
live J pon a lightship." 

M So this is how you live, Tom ; and you, 
father ; and you, uncle ! " She moved about, 
examining everything — the lantern, the fog- 
signals and life-buoys, the cooking- stove, 
bunks and store-cupboards. "To think that 



as queer 
thought I 
didn't say 

all babies 
as that ? * 


u There, my blessed, 
my handsome ! Look, 
my tender. Eh, Tom, 




here you live, all the menkind belongin' to 
me, and I never to have seen it ! All the 
menkind did I say, my rogue ? And was I 
forgettin' you — you — you ? " Kisses here, of 
course : and then she held the youngster up 
to look at his face in the light. "Ah, 
heart of me, will you grow up too to live in 
a lightship and leave a poor woman at home 
to weary for you in her trouble? Rogue, 
rogue, what poor woman have I done this to, 
bringing you into the world to be her torture 
and her joy ? " 

" Dear," says I, " you're weak yet Sit 
down by me and rest awhile before the time 
comes to go back." 

" But I'm not going back yet awhile. 
Your son, sir, and I are goin' to spend the 
night aboard." 

" Halloa ! " I said, and looked towards Old 
John, who had made fast astern of us and 
run a line out to one of the anchor-buoys. 

" Tisn't allowed, o' course," he muttered, 
looking in turn and rather sheepishly towards 
my father. "But once in a way — 'tis all 
Bathsheba's notion, and you mustn' ask me" 
he wound up. 

" i Once in a way ! ' " cried Bathsheba. 
"And is it twice in a way that a woman 
comes to a man and lays his first child in 
his arms?" 

My father had been studying the sunset 
and the sky to windward ; and now he 
answered Old John : — 

"Tis once in a way, sure enough, that 
a boat can lay alongside the Gunnel. But 
the wind's fallin', and the night'll be warm. 
I reckon if you stay in the boat, Old 
John, shell ride pretty comfortable ; and 
I'll give the word to cast off at the leastest 

" Once in a way " — ah, sirs, it isn't twice 
in a way there comes such a night as that 
was ! We lit the light at sunset, and hoisted 
it, and made tea, talking like children all the 
while ; and my father the biggest child of all. 
Old John had his share passed out to him, 
and ate it alone out there in the boat ; and, 
there being a lack of cups, Bathsheba and I 
drank out of the same, and scalded our lips, 
and must kiss to make them well. Foolish- 
ness ? Dear, dear, I suppose so. And the 
jokes we had, calling out to Old John as the 
darkness fell, and wishing him " Good-night ! " 
" Ou, aye, I hear 'ee," was all he answered. 
After we'd eaten our tea and washed up, 
I showed Bathsheba how to crawl into her 
bunk, and passed in the baby and laid it in 
her arms, and so left her, telling her to rest 
and sleep. But by-and-by, as I was keeping 

watch, she came out, declaring the place 
stifled her. So I pulled out a mattress and 
blankets and strewed a bed for her out under 
the sky, and sat down beside her, watching 
while she suckled the child. She had him 
wrapped up so that the two dark eyes of him 
only could be seen, staring up from the 
breast to the great bright lantern above him. 
The moon was in her last quarter, and would 
not rise till close upon dawn ; and the night 
pitchy dark around us, with a very few stars. 
In less than a minute Bathsheba gave a start 
and laid a hand on my arm. 

" Oh, Tom, what was that ? " 

" Look up," said I. " Tis the birds flying 
about the light." 

For, of course, our light always drew the 
sea-birds, especially on dark, dull nights, and 
'twas long since we had grown used to the 
sound of their beating and flapping, and took 
no notice of it A moment after I spoke, 
one came dashing against the rigging, and we 
heard him tumble into the sea ; and then one 
broke his neck against the cage overhead 
and tumbled dead at our feet. Bathsheba 
shivered as I tossed him overboard. 

"Is it always like this?" she whispered. 
" I thought 'twas only at the cost of a silly 
woman's fears that you saved men's lives out 

" Well," said I, " this is something more 
than usual, to be sure." 

For, looking up into the circle of light, we 
could see now at least a hundred birds flying 
round and round, and in half an hour's time 
there must have been many hundreds. Their 
white breasts were like a snowstorm ; and 
soon they began to fall thick upon deck. 
They were not all sea-birds either. 

" Halloa ! " said I, " what's the day of the 
month ? " 

" The nineteenth of March." 

" Here's a wheat-ear, then," I said. " In 
a couple of weeks we shall have the swallows ; 
and, a couple of weeks after, a cuckoo, 
maybe. So you see that even out here by 
the Gunnel we know when spring comes 

And I began to hum the old song that 
children sang in the Islands : — 

The cuckoo is a fine bird, 

He sings as lie flies ; 
He brings us good tidings, 

He tells us no lies ; 
lie sucks the sweet flowers 

To make his voice clear, 
And when he says " cuckoo ! " 

The summer is here. 

Bathsheba's eves were wet for the poor 



it soft-like, and persuading the child to 
sleep : — 

0, meeting is a pleasure, 

But parting Is grief. 
An inconstant lover 

Is worse than a thief ; 
For a thief at the worst 

Will take all thai I have ; 
B tit an inconstant lover 

Sends me tP my grave. 

Her hand stole Into mine as the boy's eyes 
closed, and clasped my fingers, entreating 
me in silence to look and admire him. Our 
own eyes met over him, and I saw by the 
lantern-light the happy blush rise and spread 
over neck and chin and forehead. The 
flapping of the birds overhead had almost 
died away, and we lay stilly watching the 

lighthouse flash, far down in the empty 

By-and-by the clasp of her hand relaxed. 
A star shot down the sky t and I turned. 
Her eyelids, too, had drooped, and her 
breath came and went as softly and regularly 
as the Atlantic swell around us. And my 
child slept in her arms. 

Day was breaking before his first cry awoke 
her. My father had the breakfast ready, and 
Old John sang out to hurry. A fair wind 
went with them to the Islands — a light south- 
wester. As the boat dropped out of sight, I 
turned and drew in a deep breath of it. It 
was full of the taste of flowers, and I knew 
that spring was already at hand, and coming 
tip that way. 



by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 

Born 1849, 



§ CARR, one 
of our great- 
est art critics, matricu- 
lated at the London 
University, and after 
passing in the Honours 
Division of the first 
examination for the 
degree of Bachelor of 
Ijiws, became a student 
of the Inner Temple in 
1869, and was called to 
the Bar in 1872, having 
gained a studentship in 
Roman and Interna- 
tiona] Law at l\\\i Inns 
of Court, Mr. Comyns 
Carr then joined the 
Northern Circuit, but 
shortly afterwards 
ceased to practise at 
the Bar, and devoted himself to literature and 
journalism. From 1870 to 1880 he was a 

At;E 10. 
From ft Photo, bv MewU & PoWftwJt, 

author of Mr. 
14 King Arthur " 

ed i t or sh i p o f VA rt. He 
was one of those who 
established the Gros- 
venor Gallery, and has 
since remained one of 
the directors of that in- 
stitution. His works on 
art include " Drawings 
by the Old Masters,'' 

1877 ; " Examples of 
Contemporary Art," 

1878 ; " Essays on 
Art"; "Art in Pro- 
vincial France," 1883 ; 
and u Papers on Art," 
in 1884. In 1882 he 
produced a dramatized 
version of Mr. Hardy's 
novel, " Far From the 
Madding Crowd," and 
in 1884 he collaborated 
with the late Hugh Con- 
way in the drama of 
"Called Back." Mr. 
Comyns Carr is just 
now prominently before 
the public as the 

living's new production of 
at the Lyceum. 

AGE 23. 

From a Photo, iy FrmdsUt, 

constant contributor to the principal literary 
reviews and magazines. He held for some 
years the post of art critic to the Pall Mall 
Gazette, and in 1875 he accepted the English 




From a Photo, by] ACE 15, 

{HUU <t SauwUn. 

Born 1845. 
TON, M.R, PC, was born at 
Brighton and educated at Harrow, 
In 1864 he was appointed an 
ensign in the Rifle Brigade, and in 1868 was 
transferred to the Coldstream Guards* At 

Fhwi a I'h<A9 r ~bv\ 

age 31. 

[Lcttk iir WhitfteM, 

the general election of December, 1868, he 
contested the County of Middlesex in the 
Conservative interest, and was returned at 
the head of the poll. At the general election 
of February, 1874, Lord George Hamilton 
again came in at the head of the poll, and 
on the formation of Mr, Disraeli's Administra- 
tion, in February, 1874, his lordship was 
nominated to the post of Parliamentary 
Under-Secretary of State for India ; he was 
also appointed Vice-President of the Com- 
mittee of Council on Education in April, 

1878. On the latter occasion he was sworn 
of the Privy Council On the defeat of the 
Gladstonian Government, he was made First 
Lord of the Admiralty from June, 1885, to 

From a Photo. ly] 

ace 42. 

\Edwm Bill. 

February, 1886, and filled the same post in 
the succeeding Cabinet. He has since taken a 
prominent part in politics, and is the present 
Chairman of the London School Board. 



^■■: ; ' 1 



\W*ell rf Sons. 



education at Harrow and Balliol College, 
Oxford, and was elected to a Fellowship at 
All Souls' College, He took the degree of 
B.A. in 1855, and M.A. in 1857, and was 
ordained priest in 1858. After holding various 


Born 1833, 
BLOM FIELD, D.D M Bishop of 
Colchester, whose untimely death 
was recorded not long ago, was 
born at Fulhom. He received his 

AGS 40. 
From a PA*to. *** J. A\ CugQttUizim. Oxford. 

curacies he was appointed Archdeacon of 
Essex in 1878 and of Colchester in 1885. In 
the latter year he was .also appointed Bishop 
of Colchester, and was consecrated at St 
Albans Cathedral, by the Archbishop of 

/ Yum a photo. b ¥ } At, E 29, j Jf it 

Fftitu a Phakt, by Samutsi Walker, ItiQtrtt $Irtft r 

Canterbury. He was the author of " Memoirs 
of Bishop Blomfield," his father, 2 vols*, 1863, 



Fnnii a J AGE 4. [PaintinQ, 


I fourth daughter of the Rt 
Hon. W* E. Gladstone, M.R, 
r) ^\ received her primary educa- 
tion at home, and afterwards 
went to Newnham College, Cambridge, 
which she entered in October, 1877, in- 
tending to stay one year only, but after- 

AGE 3a. 

From a Photo. 
?>y T. Fall, 

wards deciding to remain, studying as a student, for 
three years. Miss Gladstone then acted as secretary 
to Mr. Sidgwick (at that time Vice-Principal of the 
College), and in 1S82 succeeded to that post, with 
the additional charge of Sidgwick Hall. Miss 
Gladstone is at present on the Council of the 
Church Schools Company and on the Executive 
Committee of the Women's Liberal Federation. 

Frvtn a J 'Auto. ^ 1 i h EiW DAY, [ H iivfrw <C GfW* 




ac;e yj. 
From a Fkt*to. by Wa»i Jfawittifl**, St Galten. 


Born 1848. 
RENALS, Lord Mayor of 
London for the ensuing year, was 
born at Nottingham. After com- 
pleting his school education and 
travelling on the Continent, he entered into 
business in Nottingham, as a bleacher. In 
1875 Mr. Joseph Renals was compelled by 
ill-health to retire from active business for a 

agi-: 3s. 
From a Photo, bif E, J. A'tonetatn, ChmptUte. 

period of rest, but after two years, having 
recovered, he came to London and established 
the well-known lace firm in Fore Street. He 
became a member of the City Corporation 
in 1885 as representative of his ward — Alders- 
gate — in the Court of Common Council ; and 
two years later he was elected unanimously 
Alderman of the ward in succession to the 
late Sir John Staples* A short time since he 
served the office of Sheriff and received the 
honour of Knighthood in commemoration of 
the marriage of the Duke and Duchess of York. 


a PA/rfjr. ?j^[ 

ARE 44. 

[EilUttt A Ft?. 



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■m sJtsM^^n^BWH 

23fcv /?!Si 


HT iK'ev^l 




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jfc j 

I'^i'^KM DAV. 




A Sketch, By Mary H. Tennyson. 
Auflwrof u Reading a Play," etc. 

FEW years ago, before Mrs, 
Fred Tempest was married, 
an old and confidential friend 
gave her a rather singular 
piece of advice. 

" My dear Isabel, 17 she said, 
"as you truly remark, gogd health is a great 
blessing ; but remember this, n certain 
amount of illness is a necessity in every 
household — but for this, how would so many 
doctors get a living ? And, being intensely 
interested in your future happiness, I 
strongly advise that you should be occa- 
sionally ill, yourself. For the first two 
years of my married life, my health was 
perfect, and what was the consequence ? 
My husband became a martyr to imaginary 
complaints of all sorts ; and from morning 
till night my thoughts were occupied with his 
latest symptom and fears for the result. At 
length, however, very fortunately, as it turned 
out, I was attacked with bronchitis in rather 
a severe form, and from that moment to this, 
dear Charles has scarcely known a day's 
illness. Whenever he begins to feel anything 
peculiar coming on, my cough gets trouble- 
some, and the effect upon him is immediate. 

• Tht Author reserves the right of dramatizing this Ftorvj 
V->1- ix -1Q, * 

UlrillW1lk/UI^ ■111'* ?WI\. 

by dOOgle 

Take my word for it, dear child, it does 
not do for a wife to be hut strong and 
vigorous ; a man never thoroughly appre- 
ciates a blessing unless he thinks there is 
some chance that it may be taken from 

At the time, Isabel failed to see the wisdom 
of her friend's remarks, but she had not been 
married long before she fancied she recog- 
nised the truth of what had been said. She 
was always well and ready for long walks, 
lawn tennis, boating, or whatever form of 
violent exercise her husband felt disposed 
for, and she imagined it was in consequence 
of this that, after they had been wedded a 
year, there appeared to be a derided diminu- 
tion in his care of her. 

On their return from any expedition* there 
were no longer anxious inquiries whether she 
was not fatigued, or whether she would not 
like to rest a little before going to dress for 
dinner, All that sort of thing — which is 
very pleasant, after all — was given up, and at 
length there came a day when, on reaching 
home after a ten-mile walk, her husband 
threw himself upon the sofa at full length, 
and with a sigh, exclaimed :— 

"Upon my soul, Isabel, I don't believe 



you know what it is to feel tired ! I wouldn't 
mind betting that you could do another five 
miles without turning a hair, while as for me, 
I am dead beat I really am beginning to 
think there must be something wrong with 
my heart ; that last hill tried me dreadfully. 
Go and get me a brandy and soda, there's a 
good girl, and unlace my boots for me ; I am 
afraid to stoop over them myself, for lately I 
seem to have developed a disposition of 
blood to the head." 

Mrs, Tempest gave him his brandy and 
soda and unlaced 
his boots, and 
then, after pulling 
down the blinds, 
because her hus- 
band complained 
that his eyes were 
very weak and un- 
comfortable, she 
went up to her 
room and reflec- 
ted deeply, 

Mr, and Mrs. 
Fred Tempest are 
now very happy ; 
they have been 
married four years, 
and it can be truly 
said they have 
never had a 
serious disagree- 
ment, Fred is as 
strong and well as 
a man need wish 
to be, his heart 
never troubles 
him, and since the 
evening which has 
been alluded to, 
he has suffered no 
further indica- 
tions of an apo- 
plectic nature. 
But on the other 

hand, Mrs, Fred has had occasional attacks 
which were difficult to diagnose, but which 
came on, as a rule, after over-exertion, or when- 
ever her husband and she had had anything 
approaching a tiff. 

I do not intend to imply that Isabel was 
out of temper at these times, hut her feelings 
had usually been hurt before her mysterious 
illness declared itself; the most pronounced 
symptoms of the. attacks being an absolute 
craving for sympathy and kindness, and a 
marked aversion to food of all kinds. 

Now, possibly there is nothing posit 


dangerous to life in going without solid food 
for a week at a stretch, but it is doubtless a 
very uncomfortable state of things ; a person 
feels very low under these circumstances, and 
a little consideration and kindness are most 
precious at such times. Fred Tempest was 
a model husband during his wife's trying 
seizures, I fancy, poor fellow, he often re- 
proached himself with being the original 
cause of these illnesses ; but Mrs, Fred con- 
sidered, and still considers, though she con- 
fesses her feelings have undergone a change 

since her last at- 
tack, that she had 
a distinct griev- 
ance against her 

For instance, a 
short time before 
this last attack her 
husband took her 
and a lady friend 
to the Lyceum 
Theatre. The 
Tempests live at 
Balham, and when 
they visit thethea 
tres it is their 
custom to go and 
return by train. 
Mrs. Fred, there- 
fore, was not 
pleased on this 
particular evening 
to find that Fred 
had ordered a 
brougham. This 
circum stance, 
however, would 
not have affected 
her specially had 
not her husband 
explained his un- 
usual conduct in 
the following 
manner : — 
"My dear, I couldn't do differently. It 
wouldn't do to go dragging Mrs. French 
about in trains and cabs, French tells me 
he has to be awfully careful about her. You 
don't know, Isabel, how fragile and delicate 
she is, 35 

"She looks strong enough, at any rate,'* 
Isabel replied, rather warmly, "and her 
appetite is enormous," 

Fred Tempest appeared quite shocked at 
his wife's remark, and said what she con- 
sidered some extremely unkind things con- 
cerning her manner to Mrs. French ; and, 



possibly as the result of his plain speaking, 
the next morning Isabel was as ill as she 
could be ; too ill, in fact, to get up and give 
their guest, who had stayed the night with 
them, her breakfast. Fred entered a protest 
against this, but when Isabel declared the mere 
thought of the eggs and ham, arid sardines, 
and jam, which the delicate Mrs, French 
would consume made her feel quite deathly, 
he said no more, but kissing the suffering 
lady, with a heavy sigh went out of the room. 

As a rule, Mrs. Tempest did not send for 
Dr. Stead man until she 
had been ill for several 
days, but on this oc- 
casion her symptoms 
seemed to be aggra- 
vated- The slightest 
mention of Mrs, 
French — and Fred 
mentioned her rather 
frequently — was suffi- 
cient to make her burst 
into tears, and she was, 
m oreo ver, co mpe I led 
to absent herself from 
the room whenever her 
husband took any of 
his meals, the sight of 
food occasioning her 
positive pain. 

She endured this 
condition of things for 
four days, and then 
summoned Dr. Stead- 
man, and it must be 
owned her temper was 
considerably tried 
when, after having ex- 
plained all her discom- 
forts, her medical 
attendant said, cheer- 
fully : — 

*' If you take my ad- 
vice, you will tie your- 
self to a tree for a 
couple of days." 

"I don't understand you," she responded, 

4i What ! have you never heard that old 
story ? " he asked, with a chuckle. 

Isabel shook her head. Dr. Steadman's 
merriment vexed her. She felt so depressed, 
it seemed positively callous of him to laugh 
in her presence* 

"Well, there was a certain vet," he ex- 
plained, with a twinkle in his eye which the 
lady resented, " who worked the most mar- 
vellous cures on lady's lap-dogs, and it turned 


out that all he did was to tie his patients to 
a tree, and give them nothing to eat for two 

Mrs. Tempest thrilled with anger at this 
unfeeling anecdote, but she contrived to 
keep her temper, and even to smile faintly. 

"The treatment might be very useful in 
cases of over-feeding," she said, with polite 
sarcasm, wondering whether she should send 
the suggestion to Mrs. French; "but as a 
cure for complete loss of appetite it does not 
sound reasonable to me," 

"Nevertheless, I 
should try twenty four 
hours tying-up, at any 
rate," Dr. Steadman 
continued, briskly; 
u you have no idea 
how much brighter you 
would feel afterwards," 
" I have tried four 
days with nothing but 
slops/' Isabel re- 
marked, a little fiercely, 
u and I doiVt feel any 
the better for it yet/' 

" Well, then, give up 
the slops, and perhaps 
you will/' 

" You recommend 
absolute starvation 
then?" she said, 

" Yes, in your case 
I should try it," he 
assented with exasper- 
ating cheerfulness, 

'* Why do you say in 
my case?" the lady 
inqui red, indignantly* 
"My appetite is at the 
best of times small/' 

This was indeed a 

" I mean I should 
not recommend star- 
vation in a case of 
emaciation, but ,s - with a laugh which was 
considered particularly offensive — " but, ho, 
ha, my dear Mrs. Tempest, you are not 
emaciated, to say the least." 

Isabel's lips began to quiver, she had a 
horror of growing stout, and she answered 
somewhat peevishly : — 

" It is not always over-eating that makes 
people stout, The stoutest woman I ever 
knew ate next to nothing, whereas I once 
saw a positive skeleton get through seven 
mutton cutl$ta|jn9| ftttrog/' 




With another inopportune 
laugh, Dr. Steadman rose. 

*' I should not advise your 
trying that cure," he said; * l I 
darTt think it would suit vou at 

Isabel was so angry that she 
walked out of the room and left 
him ; it was hard, she thought, 
to be so cruelly misunderstood. 

Rather earlier than usual she 
heard her husband's latch-key 
in the lock, and the sound of 
doors opening in rapid succes- 
sion convinced her that Fred 
w as va i n 1 y seek i ng fo r h er. P re- 
sently he went clattering down 
the stairs in the direction of 
the kitchen, and then her eyes 

She was very touched at this 
evidence of his devotion. When 
it was too late, she reflected 
tearfully, Fred might come to 
think that there had been others 
who needed care besides Mrs, 
French ; and then she won- 
dered how he would feel if there 
came a day when he would 
have to descend lower than the 
kitchen before he could hope to find his 

I would explain that Isabel's thoughts 
were reverting at this instant to the cold 
grave, and not to a region which is situated 
very far below the basement floor. 

There were traces of emotion on her 
cheeks when, at length, her husband entered 
her room. 

" Why, little woman ! " he exclaimed, w I 
thought you must have gone out" 

" I feel too bad,'* she murmured, shaking 
her head dolefully. 

Fred's jolly face grew a little anxious, 

li I am awfully sorry, darling/* he said, 
tenderly ; " why, you're actually crying again ! 
Oh, come, this won't do, we must send to 
Stead man at once." 

"I've seen him," she sobbed, leaning her 
head against Freds coat-sleeve. 

"That's right; and what does he say ? *' 
her husband asked, encouragingly, 

Resenting his cheerfulness, Isabel answered, 
somewhat snappishly, " He advises me to go 
to a veterinary surgeon, and not to attempt 
to eat seven mutton-chops at a sitting/' 

Fred Tempest started. 

"You are joking ! " he cried, uneasily, 

"Well," Isabel continued, a little ashamed 

Digitized by Google 

of herself, when she saw that she had suc- 
ceeded in alarming him at last ; " I don't 
think he could have been quite in earnest, 
but he recommended nothing else, except, 
as usual } letting Nature have her own 

*' Did you ask him about trying a change 
of air? 7 ' Fred inquired, much puzzled, 

"Yes, and he said it did not matter 
where I went, but that, all things considered, 
I was better at home/' 

" Rut that's very unsatisfactory," Fred 
cried- " I cannot understand Steadman. I )id 
vou ask him to suggest anything for you to 
eat? 1 

" Oh> yes. He evidently thought nothing 
at all would be best for me ; but in case of 
any insatiable craving on my part, he hinted 
I might assuage my raging hunger on dog 

It was some dreary satisfaction to Isabel 
to see that, for once, Fred also was thoroughly 
annoyed with Dr. Steadman, and that his 
genial countenance wore quite a gloomy 
expression when, after dinner, he went out 
to smoke his cigar and have his usual 

The next day, as she was sitting in her 
bedroom with the Venetian blinds down, very 
Original from 




miserable, her maid came to tell her tint her 
neighbour, Mrs. Carson, was below. Now, 
Mrs. Carson is one of the most sympathetic 
women in the world, and still smarting under 
Dr. Steadman's perfectly unjustifiable insinua- 
tions, the aggrieved lady hailed her approach 
thankfully. Mrs. Carson gave a melodious 
little scream of dismay when she was ushered 
into the sufferer's presence. 

" Oh, my dear soul ! " she cried, with 
uplifted hands, "what is the matter? You 
do look ill." 

" I am very poorly,' 1 was the mournful 

u I should think so, indeed. You are 
positively green ! " 

" That may be the reflection of the blinds," 
Isabel answered, not entirely pleased ; " but 
I do feel very bad." 

" But what is it, dear ? " 

" I have not the least idea what occasions 
it," Isabel went on with slight disregard to the 
truth, " but I am awfully low and depressed, 
and I have not eaten anything for four days." 

" Good gracious ! But you have had a 
doctor, I suppose ? " 

"Yes, I saw Dr. Steadman yesterday," 
Isabel answered, trying to keep her voice 
from trembling at the recollection. 

" Well, what does he say it is ? " 

" He doesn't give it a name, he never gives 
anything a name, but I think he attributes it 
to gluttony." 

" Goodness me ! " 

" At any rate," Isabel explained, with a 
mirthless laugh, " he considered it necessary 
to warn me against gorging, and recom- 
mended, as a cure for complete and obstinate 
loss of appetite, tying myself to a post with 
a lot of dogs, and starving myself for a couple 
of days." 

Mrs. Carson looked aghast. 

" Oh, my dear ! " she cried. " Is he safe ? " 

" Is who safe ? " 

" Why, Dr. Steadman ; he must be mad to 
talk like that." 

" Oh, dear, no," Isabel interrupted, quickly. 
" He is not mad, he is the cleverest man in 
this neighbourhood by far." 

" Well, then," Mrs. Carson continued, with 
a puzzled air, " if you have so much faith in 
Dr. Steadman, how do you account for his 
behaviour on the present occasion ? " 

Isabel shrugged her shoulders hopelessly. 

" I suppose he thinks me a humbug, and 
that the case is not worthy his serious atten- 
tion ; at any rate, that is all he said, and he 
laughed while he was saying that." 

" My dear, it's cruel ! " Mrs. Carson ex- 

Digilized by ^OOglC 

claimed, warmly. " I call it positively cruel 
of him ; and you looking so ill, too." 

" It's not sympathetic, certainly," the 
invalid whimpered. 

" It's brutal ! He must be a man abso- 
lutely without heart." 

Isabel's conscience gave her a twinge. She 
did not feel at all disposed to champion Dr. 
Steadman at that moment, but recollecting 
the time when her husband's young brother 
lay sick to death, and this very man denied 
himself rest for nights together because he 
saw that his presence was a comfort to the 
lad's broken-hearted mother, she felt she 
could not allow so grave and undeserved an 
aspersion to be cast upon his character. 

" It is not that," she said, honestly —"Fred's 
people worship Dr. Steadman— it is that he 
considers my case too trifling. We disagree 
on that point, however. My life may not be in 
danger, but lamas wretched as I can be." 

" You must be," responded Mrs. Carson, 
kindly. " I don't know what I should do if 
my appetite were to fail me. But what does 
Dr. Steadman recommend you to try to eat ? " 

" Nothing," was the forlorn reply. Then, 
bitterly : " He suggests nothing except the 
dogs and the post." 

"That's foolishness, my dear, downright 
foolishness ! But what does he say of your 
tongue ? " 

" He never looks at it." 

Mrs. Carson sprang to her feet. 

" He never looks at your tongue ? " she 
cried, tragically. 

" Never," Isabel answered ; " but, to tell 
truth, I can't say I object to that. I detest 
showing my tongue." 

With an excited gesture Mrs. Carson 
interrupted : " My dear, you are talking 
nonsense ; everything is told by the tongue, 
nobody can deny that ! " Then, advancing, 
she clasped both Isabel's hands, and squeezed 
them impressively. "My dear," she said, 
solemnly, " you must see someone else ; it is 
evident to me that you are being neglected 
altogether, and from the look of you, I think 
it is more serious than Dr. Steadman fancies." 

" I should not mind seeing someone else 
for this," Isabel said ; " but Fred would never 
consent to anything that looked like dis- 
respect to Dr. Steadman." 

" Rubbish ! " Mrs. Carson exclaimed, 
brusquely. "I suppose he would rather 
offend Dr. Steadman than lose his wife. Oh, 
my dear, now, pray don't begin to cry, or you 
will upset me altogether ; you are evidently 
in an excessively low state. It surely wouldn't 
hurt Dr. Steadman's feelings if you were to 




ask him to meet another doctor in consulta- 
tion, would it ? " 

" No," Mrs. Fred sobbed, " he would not 
mind that, of course; but I don't know 
whom else to call in." 

" There need be no difficulty about that," 
Mrs. Carson replied, promptly ; " I know the 
very man." 

11 And who is he?" 

"Dr. Peter Furness, one of the ablest 
men in Edinburgh ; he is my cousin, and is 
staying a few days with me, and he's the 
kindest, gentlest, most sympathetic 
creature in existence." 

" And clever ? " Isabel asked, 
much interested. 

" Clever ! He is a perfect en- 
cyclopaedia of knowledge. He will 
tell you what's the matter with you, 
never fear. He is the very man of 
all others you want, for his sugges- 
tions with regard to di?t are per- 
fectly invaluable. Altogether he is 
the greatest comfort in times of 
illness. I've experienced his kind- 
ness with the children. Every year 
when we go north we see a great 
deal of him. Come, now, you 
get him to meet Dr. Steadman to- 
morrow ; I shall not be easy until 
youVe seen someone else, my dear ; 
there's a look about you I don't 
like at all." 

Isabel wrote a letter to Dr. Stead- 
man directly Mrs. Carson had left 
her, but she did not despatch it 
until Fred's return. Somewhat to 
her surprise, her husband made no 
difficulty about the matter, but she s%^ 
felt a little nervous when she opened 
the doctor's reply: she knew 
Freds family would never forgive 
her if she offended their respected 

Dr. Steadmau wrote but a few 
words, and Isabel heaved a sigh of relief as 
she handed the note to Fred. 

" It happens fortunately," she murmured, 
" does it not ? " 

" Dear Mrs. Tempest," Fred read aloud ; 
" by all means, see Dr. Furness, but I am 
sorry I cannot meet him to-morrow : I am 
called into the country. That does not 
signify, however ; his medicine cannot clash 
with mine, as I have prescribed none. I 
will come round in a few days and have a 
look at you in a friendly way. With kindest 
regards, very sincerely yours, 

44 George Steadman." 

Fred Tempest had an engagement that 
evening at the French's ; he offered to stay 
at home, but when Isabel discovered that he 
had promised Mr. French he would look in 
and help him to cheer his wife — who, notwith- 
standing all their care, had been much upset by 
the theatre expedition — she assured him, chok- 
ingly, she would rather, far rather, be alone. 

The lady spent the evening in tears, and had 
a dry biscuit for dinner, and the next morning 
she felt more ill than she had ever done in 
her life ; so bad, in fact, was she, that Fred, 


for the first time, was quite frightened, and 
declared nothing should induce him to start 
to husiness until he had heard Dr. Furness's 
opinion of his wife's condition. 

Isabel was so depressed and so utterly 
miserable, that even the doctor's knock at 
the door failed to rouse her ; but when he 
entered the room, she managed to rise from 
her chair, and holding on to the back of it, 
greeted him with all possible courtesy and 

Dr. Furness is not a handsome man ; 
indeed, he might justly be called ugly, but 
his aspect iOebctreineiy benevolent, his voice 




is low and gentle, and his first words proved 
him to be the kindly, sympathetic creature 
Mrs. Carson had described. 

"Don't stand, my dear lady," he mur- 
mured, soothingly; "you look sadly, very 

And then, taking the sufferer's hand in his, 
he assisted her to her chair, and seating him- 
self quite close, bent towards her with a 
benignant smile on his face. 

" Now," he said, so kindly that it brought 
the ready tears to Isabel's eyes. " Now, tell 
me all about it. Come, come, you mustn't 
get depressed, you know, that will never do. 
Now let us hear, and then we will think what 
can be done/' 

Mrs. Tempest explained her symptoms 
with quite unusual plainness, having made 
notes beforehand that she might forget 
nothing, and Dr. Furness accompanied her 
recital with a series of little sympathetic 
humming murmurs which strongly resembled 
the cooing of a rather hoarse dove. From 
time to time Isabel glanced at him, and saw 
that he sat with his eyes tightly closed, and 
his face radiant with benevolence. At length 
she came to a conclusion, and a silence 

'* He is thinking," the lady murmured 
under her breath ; " he is turning it all over 
in his brain." 

For a minute the silence continued, and 
then Dr. Furness opened his eyes suddenly. 

" Any pain in the knees ? " he asked, softly. 

This was an unexpected question, for Mrs. 
Tempest had not complained of any weak- 
ness in her joints, or of anything, in fact, 
except utter depression of spirits, and com- 
plete failure of appetite. 

" No," she replied, a little startled, " I 
have no pain at all in my knees." 

*' Nor in the back of the eye-balls, or the 
shoulders ? " he inquired, shutting his eyes. 


Dr. Furness hummed a little, and then 
opened his eyes again. 

" Lem-me-look-at-the-tongue ! " he said, all 
in one word, and with the most musical up- 
ward inflection of voice. 

Isabel displayed her tongue. As she ex- 
plained to Mrs. Carson, she had a great 
objection to doing this ; it may have been 
ridiculous vanity on her part, but she con- 
sidered it most unpleasant to have to, as it 
were, invite criticism under what she felt to 
be such truly undignified and hideous cir- 
cumstances. At the same time, it must be 
owned that when she did show her tongue 
she liked it to be looked at, and it annoyed 

Digitized by CjK 

her, after having sat in this condition for at 
least half a minute, waiting for Dr. Furness 
to give her the order of release, to find, on 
raising her eyes, that he had once more 
closed his. 

She brought her teeth together with rather 
an irritable snap, and the sound roused him. 

" No neuralgia in the arms or jaws ? " he 
inquired, gently. 

t; No," she replied, growing uneasy, for it 
was evident Dr. Furness considered these 
infirmities to be the natural sequence of her 
present condition. 

" No darting pains in the insteps or 
wrists ? " 

« N_ n ._ no .» 

" And free from pain in the knees ? " 

" Quite," she answered, faintly. 

" l>em-me-look-at-t he-tongue ! " 

With a little, nervous laugh, Isabel put out 
her tongue once more. It was vexing, she 
thought, but as Dr. Furness had omitted to 
look at it on the previous occasion, she could 
well understand the necessity for repeating 
the objectionable practice. This time she put 
it out and in again as quickly as an automatic 
toy ; but the momentary glimpse Dr. Furness 
obtained of it caused him such an access 
of his peculiar dove-like sounds that the 
lady became quite anxious. It really seemed 
as though her tongue had quite shocked her 

Pulling an enormous gold watch from his 
pocket, Dr. Furness laid his velvety touch 
upon Isabel's wrist, and, humming incessantly, 
began to study her pulse ; but taking out his 
watch must have been a mere habit with 
him, for his patient noticed that all the time 
he held her wrist, his eyes were tightly shut. 

Mrs. Fred Tempest, as a rule, is by no 
means irritable, but she did find Dr. Furness's 
habit of closing his eyes deciding trying. 
She could not understand it, for she had 
heard Dr. Steadman say often that he trusted 
his eyes far more than his ears in diagnosing 
a case. She was willing to admit, however, 
that different men might have different 
methods of gaining the same point. 

Dr. Furness held her wrist for so long that 
at last she began to fidget a little, and then, 
with a final coo, he replaced his watch, and 
once more looked at her. 

" And how's the appetite ? " he murmured, 

Isabel started, and commenced twisting 
her handkerchief into knots. 

" I have no appetite at all. I detest the 
sight of food," she said, raising her voice, and 
speaking distinctJy^ ro 4 p,| thought I had ex- 





plained that I have eaten nothing for four 

" Dear, dear, dear, that's bad, that's very 
bad. And what does Dr. Steadman say is 
the matter with you ? " 

11 He doesn't say what it is," was the 
plaintive reply. " I thought perhaps you 
would be able to tell me ; it is so much more 
satisfactory to know what one is suffering 

" Of course it is, naturally it is. And you 
say you are free from pain in the knees, and 
the appetite is not good ? " 

"It is as bad as it can be," she answered, 
sharply, ignoring her joints altogether. "What 
do you think occasions it ? " 

The doctor sat a minute cooing softly with 
sealed eye-lids, and then, suddenly opening 
them very wide, he said loudly, all in one 
breath, without any stops — 

" I should say you are suffering either from 
Anorexia which means absence of appetite 
or Apositia which is a disgust for food or 
Asitia which is a loathing of the same or 

Fastidium Cidi a distaste 
for food or As£ or Inedia 
or in fact anything but 
Bulimia which signifies 
excess of appetite vo- 
racity or insatiable hun- 

The lady's brain began 
to whirl, and hastily un- 
screwing the top of her 
scent-bottle, she dabbed 
her forehead with her 
handkerchief. Dr. Fur- 
ness was very learned, 
there was no doubt of 
that, but she almost 
wished she hadn't asked 
the question, the list was 
confusing and alarming ; 
besides, the speech evi- 
dently exhausted the 
physician, for he re- 
lapsed into perfect 
silence, until, after a 
pause, Isabel said, rather 
tremulously : — 

" Mrs. Carson tells 
me, Dr. Furness, that 
you often make most 
valuable suggestions 
with regard to diet 
Now, possibly, you might 
be able to mention 
something that I could 
take ; this aversion to 
food is really so very distressing." 

" Of course it is, of course it is ! Very 
trying indeed, most trying. I may say exces- 
sively trying ! " Then, in the softest con- 
ceivable tone, and with the sweetest smile : 
" Lem-me-look-at-the-tongue ! " 

Mrs. Tempest's face grew very grave, and 
she sternly crushed a rising inclination to 
anger. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, 
you ungrateful woman ! " she thought. " He is 
very careful, and you did not allow him an 
opportunity of seeing it the last time." 

Isabel displayed her tongue again, and 
whether her companion looked at it or not 
she did not know, for she was not at all equal to 
staring a man in the face while she showed him 
her tongue for the third time in ten minutes. 
" And what have you been taking ? " Dr. 
Furness asked, after humming over the out- 
stretched tongue for a few seconds. 

" I've tried a little soup," the patient 
replied, mournfully. 

Dr. Furness opened his eyes so wide that 
the whites became visible ; and drawing a 


" let-mf-lookatthe-tongur: 


deep Dreatn, started off rapidly and loudly : 

" Soup, that's good ! Well, you know there 

is "—increasing his pace suddenly — " beef 

tea mutton broth veal broth chicken broth 

Scotch broth oxtail soup mock turtle clear 

turtle thick turtle julienne mulligatawny gravy 

soup tomato soup artichoke soup vermicelli 

soup hare soup grouse soup oyster soup 

giblet soup kidney soup lentil soup pea soup 

aspara — — " 

He ran down here, his voice died away, 

and he sat and panted for a minute. Mrs. 

Tempest was not surprised at this, for only 

listening to him had reduced her to so severe 

a condition of breathlessness that she began 

to consider seriously whether it was wise for 

her to remain any longer with him. He 

frightened her, and his exhausted condition 

after his long speeches was really alarming to 


* Thank you,' she faltered, with a curious 

inclination to laugh and cry at the same 

time — " thank you so much ; I will try one 

of them." 

Di. Furness recovered sooner than could 

have been expected. 

" And can you manage a little milk 

pudding of any sort, eh ? " he asked, with 

almost a tender air of interest. 

" He is kind ! " Isabel thought to herself; 

"he is really kind and careful. I don't care 

for milk puddings," she said, " but " 

With a gentle pressure of his hand upon 

her arm, the doctor interrupted her, and 

stretching his eyes suddenly, drew in his 

breath audibly. Isabel began to tremble, 

and clenched her teeth. 

"There is tapioca pudding sago pudding 

rice pudding ground-rice pudding cornflour 

pudding semolina pudding polina pudding 

hominy pudding custard pudding regina 

pudding flavoured either with lemon orange 

citron vanilla noyeau ratafia almond ginger 

nutmeg " 

" Oh, I know, I know ! " the lady panted. 

" Don't tell me any more now, please ; I 

really don't think I can bear it. I am so 

very much obliged to you, indeed I am. I 

shall never be at a loss after this, I'm sure." 

He pressed his hand softly on her arm 

again. " Lem-me-look-at-the-tongue ! " 

Isabel could not stand that, for even as 

Dr. Furness proffered the request he shut his 

eyes tightly. 

" You must excuse me, please," she replied, 

biting her lips and quivering with excitement, 

and then, to her dismay, she found herself 

breaking into a short, sharp laugh. 

She was not at all amused, but she felt 
VoL u —it 

she must either laugh or scream, for, in an 
instant, an explanation had flashed across her 
brain why all Mrs. Carson's children had 
such particularly thick utterances. In young 
children the muscles are very flexible and 
easily stretched, and Dr. Furness, having 
attended them frequently, it was no wonder 
that their tongues should have become too 
long for their mouths. 

The doctor took no offence at her un- 
becoming hilarity, however, but when he had 
rested a minute, continued, softly : — 

" And jellies, now ; how about jellies ? " 

"I don't like them," was the quick re- 
joinder. It wasn't the truth. Isabel had 
rather a weakness for jellies, but she feared if 
the doctor started off again that he would kill 
her ; for she had the peculiarity of feeling 
bound to hold her breath while the person 
who was either talking or singing to her held 
his, and sometimes, during a long-drawn-out 
note or cadenza, she suffered severely. 

But if she had hoped to save herself, she 
was mistaken. She saw her amiable tor- 
mentor unclose his eyes and deliberately 
inflate his lungs. In despair she did the 
same, and crammed her handkerchief into 
her mouth to prevent the breath escaping too 

"There is calve's-foot jelly ivory jelly 
orange jelly lemon jelly lime jelly currant 
jelly cherry jelly brandy jelly champagne 
jelly sherry jelly claret jelly noyeau jelly 
punch jelly jelly with fruit jelly with prawns 
jelly with- " 

" Might I trouble you — ha ! ha ! — for my 
smelling-salts ? I'm — ha, ha ! — feeling rather 
faint and breathless ! " Mrs. Tempest gasped. 

" Oh, come, come, come," Dr. Furness 
said, kindly, " this won't do at all." 

" I think I require a change of air," Isabel 
stammered, still with the same unreasonable 
and perfectly mirthless inclination to laugh. 

" I dare say you do. Now, where does Dr. 
Steadman advise you to go ? " 

" He doesn't seem to think it matters," 
she replied, more calmly, but very plaintively. 

Dr. Furness hummed a little, and his eye- 
lids began to stretch themselves. " Ah, but 
that is not quite wise," he said ; " the climate 
and locality are very important." 

And then, to the lady's horror, she heard 
the long-drawn-in breath. She could not 
manage to inflate her own lungs this time, 
and there were beads of moisture on her brow 
before the doctor had finished. 

" You might go either to Brighton or East- 
bourne Bournemouth or Ramsgate or Mar- 
gate or Heme Bay 01 Cromer or Scarborough 




or South st. a or Blackpool or Torquay or 1 1 Ira 
combe to the north of Scotland or the south 
of France to the Isle of Wight to the Isle of 
Man to Jersey to Guernsey — — " 

He stopped here from sheer inability to 
continue, and Isabel leant her head back on 
her chair, and wondered drearily whether 
Fred would come and interrupt them in time 
to save her from suffocation or brain fever; 
already there was a hammer at work in her 

She thought afterwards that she must have 
been really faint for a few seconds, for she 
had a dim perception that Dr, Furness 
inquired about the condition of her knees 
again, and that she made no attempt to 
answer him ; but she was suddenly recalled 
to full consciousness by his saying, blandly : — 

14 And how about drink, now; what do 
you drink ? M 

With a stifled cry Mrs* Tempest sprang to 
her feet. 

11 What do I drink ? '' she repeated, wildly. 
" Ha, ha I I drink nothing — that is to say — 
ha, ha ; I don't wish to drink anything. 1x1 
rather not, I would indeed ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! -1 

14 But you take a little wine or spirit mixed 
with aerated water, eh ? * 

"Never!" Isabel cried, lying most pre- 
posterously. i% I assure you, I never do, 
and I never wish to. Ha, ha, ha, I don't, 



rTH..TOKOV t !" 

indeed I don't ! I am going mnd, I 
feel I am ! " she muttered, stamping her feet, 
and wringing her hands, "I cant get away 
from him ; there's a deadly fascination about 
him. If Fred doesn't come soon he will find 
me a gibbering idiot ! " 

"You might take a little brandy or whisky 
or rum or gin or hoi lands, occasionally,' 
Dr. Furness continued, suavely, approaching 
the agitated lady and once more laying hi:: 
hand impressively upon her arm: "and you 
could mix it with either ,+ — then he drew his 
long breath, and his palpitating victim 
shuddered convulsively— "soda water seltzer 
water potass water lithia water taunus water 
brunner water lime water salutaris apol IS tr- 
ans zoedone " 

Mrs* Tempest staggered, and began to 
sway backwards and forwards. 

lk Why, what's the matter?'" Dr. Furness 
said gently ; rerv gently and kindly he said 

" I feel ill ! w the lady cried, Happing her 
hands together. " III : ill ! I want my 
husband, I think I am going to die ! " 

" Lem-me-look-at-the-tongue ! " 

With a piercing scream, Mrs. Tempest 
fell into her chair again. 

hk No, ha ! ha ! never ! never ! I la ! Iki ! 
I will not! I will not! Oh, Fred: Fred! 
Ha! ha! ha!" 

The rest was not silence. 

The evening of Dr. Furness s vi^it 
to Isabel, Fred Tempest had rather a 
stormy interview with his old friend, 
Mrs. (.'arson* 

" Hang it all ! "he exclaimed, "your 
cousin's methods of cure are rather too 
strong. Isabel has been downright ill 
the greater prt of the day/' 

" And how is she now, Fred ? " the 
buxom lady asked, biting her lips to 
preserve her gravity. 

"She is better now, certainly ; 
but- J? 

tl And shell remain better, my dear 
hoy ; take my word for it. Are you 
not coming in to thank Peter?"' 

" Thank him ! " Fred cried. " Why, 
I feel indebted to him for the 
wretchedest day I ever spent." 

"Nevertheless, you II live to thank 
him, you ungrateful hoy. ' 

The previous evening, when Fred, 
in very low spirits, had turned out 
for his aftei dinner stroll, he kid 
ralle.d. on Mrs. f arson, with the 
objjQfi ailT" *lif KHi% her always ready 




sympathies tor himself as well as for his wife, 
and had found that good-natured lady tete-d- 
tete with a plain, but kindly-looking, middle- 
aged man, to whom he was introduced as her 
cousin, Dr. Peter Furness, of Edinburgh. 

This gentleman sat very quietly while the 
young man explained his troubles, but when 
Freds recital of his woes and his annoyance 
with Dr. Steadman had come to an end, the 
Scotch physician looked up quickly, with the 
suspicion of a twinkle in his prominent eyes. 

v< I recollect Steadman in my student days, ' 
he said. u He was considered a very clever 
fellow then."" 

" He is awfully clever/' Fred answered, 
warmly ; " but I can't persuade him that it 
would be better to humour my wife a little 
bit. He rubs her the wrong way so terribly.'' 

" He doesn't think there is anything 
serious the matter, I presume? " 

"Well, no,"' Fred answered, hesitatingly. 
" He thinks she is over-excitable, and " 

" And that she has more sympathy from 
you already than is good for her, and that 
she can't bear little Mrs. French, eh, Fred ? " 
Mrs. ('arson interposed, laughingly. 

" Oh, come now, really " 

" Oh, yes, I know — I know all about it, my 
dear boy. Isabel is a goose." 

There was silence for a minute, and then 
Dr. Furness, after regarding the young man's 
worried face attentively, said softly: — 

" Let me see your wife, Mr. Tempest. I 
fancy I could cure her. I believe I under- 
stand her case thoroughly. Let my cousin 
Minnie, here, go and suggest that Mrs. 
Tempest should consult me." 

tk But you would have to meet Steadman. 
I ain't offer him any slight, though I do feel 
riled with him," Fred answered. 

" Of course I'll meet him: it would give 
me pleasure,'' the doctor assented, blandly. 
" Now, my dear sir, take my advice, don't 
you mention this matter to your wife. Let the 

suggestion emanate hom Minnie, otherwise 
Mrs. Tempest will think you are frightened.*' 

" And you'll be gentle with her, went 
you ? " Fred continued, earnestly. " Steadman 
is a dear old boy, but I am sure he makes a 
mistake in Isabel's case. She is so very 

"Oh, I'll be very gentle, you may depend 
upon that." 

When the cousins were alone again, the 
doctor fixed his eyes thoughtfully upon Mrs. 
Carson's pleasant, smiling face. 

"That seems a thoroughly good fellow," 
he said at length. " I should like to help him. 
The wife's jealousy of the other lady is all 
nonsense, I suppose ? " 

" Perfect nonsense," Mrs. Carson retorted, 
warmly. " Fred's devoted to Isabel. I really 
should like to shake her, sometimes. Yet 
she can be so sweet, too." 

Dr. Furness relapsed into silence once 
more, but presently he continued, with rather 
a sly smile : " You'll be as sympathetic as 
possible when you call upon the lady to- 
morrow, Minnie, please, and don't forget to 
exalt me and to pitch into poor Fred and 
Steadman, too. I'll just run up now and 
give Steadman a hint to decline meeting me. 
I'd better see her alone if I'm to soothe her. 
I say, cousin, do you recollect Macfarlane ? " 

Mrs. Carson started, and then her ample 
shoulders began to shake. 

" I used to be able to imitate him pretty 
well. Mrs. Tempest shall benefit by my 
talent. ' Any pain in the knees,' Minnie ? 
' I^m-me-look-at-the-tongue ! ' " 

Isabel has not seen Dr. Furness since that 
memorable morring two years ago, but to 
this day Mrs. Carson declares proudly that 
her relative cured her friend ; and one thing 
is quite certain, which is that Mrs. Tempest 
has never again suffered another of her 
miserable attacks. 

by Google 

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by Google 

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Hospital Days and Hospital 11 ays 

Bv Augusta E. Maxskorii. 

FiV>U\ r([ 


HK great charm about it was 
its unexpectedness I had 
pUnned to do kil kinds of 
tilings that summer, to go up 
hill and down dale, to cull 
flowers and climb stiles ; but 
Fate had a simpler programme in store for 
me : I was to spend ten weeks in the Royal 

Fate wasn't an ugly old woman this time, 
or perhaps I might have avoided hen No, 
the deceitful old thing took the form of a 
benign -looking physician, who invited me 
in the most cordial of tones to " come 
in," I had heard much of the Royal 
Free, of its skilful doctors and (.lever 
girl-students, and, having succeeded in 
puzzling many medical men, thought I would 
see what they said to me there, but an invi- 
tation to stay I had never expected, 1 did not 
want to "come in/' and am inclined to think 
my response was not warm. Even when told 
I was "an interesting case,' 1 I did not feel 
flattered, hut went home and packed with 
unwonted sedateness, That was easily done, 
hospital garb having the advantage of simpli- 
city ; so into the basket went my books, to be 
followed by such minor considerations as 
sugar, butter, and linen. 

Half-past ten one morning I was duly 
deposited in Elizabeth Ward, and that being 
considered a suitable hour for retiring to bed, 
an overgrown clothes-horse, with numerous 
joints and crimson hangings, was put round a 
corner, and I bade a long farewell to my out- 
door g^rb, Then my trmperature was takt-n 
and proved uninterestingly normal. There 

is a story going of a poor woman in Guy's, 
who, having had the clinical thermometer put 
under her arm for five minutes, exclaimed, 
on its removal : M Oh, nurse, that has done 
me good ! I feel's a sight better ! " I didn't, 
but perhaps that was my natural perverse n ess. 

The screen being removed, 1 found myself 
in a most convenient nook, commanding a 
full view of the ward, and close to the ice- 
box and poison cupboard. The ward was a 
bright one, the nurse was bright, and so were 
the flowers, the tins, and the brasses, but 
brightest of all were the patients ; I could 
hardly believe that the jolly- looking women 
silting up in bed singing the "Fusiliers/ 1, 
"Ta-ra-ra-Rooin-de-av, l? etc., were my fellow- 
sufferers. Having comfortably arranged my 
l)elongings in my locker, I found it was time to 
take out again knife, fork, and spoon for dinner, 
and with a newspaper for a tablecloth I duly 
disposed of stewed rabbit and pudding. As 
usual over a meal, the chat became general 
One or two remarks addressed to a Mrs. 
Four did not meet any response, and I was 
meditating on the unsociability of that lady 
and the strangeness of her name when, chanc- 
ing to catch sight of the number over my bed, 
I made the interesting discovery that the 
individual addressed was myself. I promptly 
apologized, and while disclaiming any legal 
right to the prefix, strove to bear the honour 
thus thrust upon me with becoming meek- 

" My ! So you ain't married ? And 
you've got to go through all that! It'll be 
all the harder for you then, won't it, Mrs. 
Six?" remark;^ Jtf g|, f$@Yfin. 




" Won't it just ! " agreed Mrs. Six; and they 
both sat up to look at me, whilst I promptly 
retired under the bed-clothes, wondering how 
in the world having a grief-stricken husband 
sitting at home tearing his hair (because, of 
course, he would have torn his hair) could 
in any way have lessened my sufferings. In 
the course of a week or two, when I learnt 
that matrimony often entailed a knowledge 
of new uses for poker and flat-irons, I could 
understand that blessed state might make 
one more or less inured to physical pain. 

The next excitement was a visit from the 
clinical clerk, with whom I fell in love straight 
away ; she was my idea of a strong-minded 
woman. Though her skirts were short, her 
hair was not, but lustrous brown plaits were 
coiled round and round a classic head, and 
her broad forehead, well-marked brows, clear 
grey eyes, and calm mouth, all inspired me 
with confidence. 

Shut in by the screen, I went through the 
usual catechism, told her the ages of "my 
uncles, my cousins, and my aunts," and ex- 
plained how any of them came to make the 
mistake of dying. She seemed very anxious 
for some of them to have been consumptive, 
had rheumatic fever, or even fits ; but on 
those points I could not oblige her. One of 
her duties was to see that the new patient 
was all there; the medical authorities are 
very particular on that point, so she 
checked off the different organs by a 
kind of inventory. Her long, sensitive 
hands had a combined firmness and gen- 
tleness of touch that made even pain from 
them less hard to bear, so that when she had 
discovered what was wrong, and had drawn a 
little sketch of the state of affairs on my skin 
with blue pencil, I could still smile at the 
notion that I was like an ancient Briton with 
woad decorations. 

The screen being removed, I re-entered 
public life, and found tea was being collected : 
they must get some rare blends in the 
hospital, as every patient contributes a spoon- 
ful to the general brew, which when made is 
poured into mugs that for size and thickness 
would satisfy Lockhart. I cared not for 
stimulants, so was spared their weight Those 
versed in hospital records tell us that in the 
days when tea was so dear that neither 
hospital nor patient could afford to supply 
the luxury, beer was served out twice daily, 
and in many old institutions the flagons are 
still to be seen. 

With the evening came letters and friends ; 
at eight o'clock prayers were read, talking 
forbidden, the lamp lighted, and we were 

Vol. ix.--12. 

told to "lie down and go to sleep." That 
speech seemed to take me back twenty years 
with a bound : still I could not sleep, so lay and 
admired the night nurse, whose rich, dark face 
reminded me of Luke Fildes's Italian pictures. 
Such thoughts at last beguiled me into a 
doze, but when night came so did the house- 
surgeon, and I awoke with a start to see him 
motioning for the now dreaded screen. The 
dim light, his whispered directions, the gleam 
of the instruments (of torture, I thought), the 
shock, the pain, made up a bad ten minutes, 
through which my pretty nurse held my 
hands, and smiled and nodded encourage- 
ment. When he left, she came back to 
cheer me. 

" One must never mind what doctors do," 
she said, " as to them we are like so many 
chairs and tables." 

It was such queer consolation that I 
laughed, and was then presented with a 
black-looking mixture, which she said she 
always took herself, and talked about as 
one's host would a favourite brand of wine, 
so that I had to drink it with an air of enjoy- 
ment Sleep for me that night was out of 
the question; I could only marvel at the 
others who did, and amuse myself by 
watching from my window the ever-moving 
leaves of the aspen and the earliest traces of 
approaching dawn. 

At five began our morning ablutions, and 
six o'clock found us with beds made and 
breakfast half finished. Snooks at that hour 
was particularly lively, and kept us constantly 
informed that he was a "pretty bird" — 
possibly he was correct in his opinion — but 
I prefer a thrush with a tail, which he seemed 
to think an unnecessary appendage. Sub- 
sequently he and I discovered that we 
agreed in a liking for new-laid eggs and hot- 
house grapes, and as I was kept well supplied 
with those commodities, he was graciously 
pleased to accept my overtures of friendship. 
What he liked best of all was to secure a 
stout fowl bone, which he would keep 
till the doctor was making the round, and 
then thump vigorously on the floor of his 
cage to show his contempt for professional 
instructions. His companion, Joey, a mule- 
canary, that had some of the softest and 
sweetest notes I ever have heard, took as 
much care of his voice as the well-known 
tenor, and honoured us only with one song 

Another popular favourite was Fluffy, a 
Persian cat, that, five or six years ago, was 
brought to the Royal Free with a broken leg. 

An WJ$^i#¥W and the leg 



set, and when entirely recovered Miss Pussy 
took up an official position in the hospital, 
and twice a day visited every ward as regularly 
as the doctors and matron, but with many 
more airs and graces. 

Tuesday being what was known as " doc- 
tor's morning/' there was even more than 
usual bustle and drive to have all in order by 
9 a.m. The staff nurse came on duty at 7 
a.m., in a pink cotton dress, did the regula- 

Prom a I*h&t& h# G. errand, Hiffeni street 

tion arranging and dusting, vanished and re- 
appeared in the full glory of a blue gown, 
white cap, cuffs and apron. One of the 
patients amused us by obs crving some days 
after that the morning pink nurse was rather 
like our blue day nurse, but, on my keeping 
up the joke and inquiring which she liked 
the better of the two, was discreet enough to 
answer: "I h'aint no fault to find with 
neither of 'em/' and it took the united efforts 
of the ward to convince her of the identity 
of the supposed two nurses. 

Brisk steps and manly voices in the 
corridor announced the coming of the 
physician and his satellites. At a sign 
from the nurse, books and newspapers dis- 

appeared into our lockers, and we lay down 
to await his coming, our courage oozing out 
through the bed-clothes, and our hearts mark- 
ing the seconds with such powerful beats that 
we almost wondered his quick ear did not heed 
them* Not long were w T e kept in suspense, 
from one to the other he passed with mar- 
vellous quickness, heard a summary of the 
case from the student, asked a few pertinent 
questions of the house-surgeon t said a word 
to the patient, made a brief examination, 
gave a few penetrating side-long glances, 
nodded hts head, washed his hands in many 
waters, and was gone. 

" Thank goodness, we're at peace now till 
Saturday," said Mrs, Two, sitting up once 
more and getting out her work, and one by 
one we all emerged from our pillows, and 
tried to look as though we had not been 
using our pocket-handkerchiefs. 

" Mrs* Four's going to the theatre on Satur- 
day," observed Mrs. Seven, " I heerd ] im say 

"What does that mean?" I asked. 

"Oh, you'll be starved for some hcurs 
first, and then when you're in the theatre 
they ^11 give you some ether, and do what they 
like with you, and you won + t know nothing. 
I can't abide ether !" 

li I shall not mind if it takes away feeling," 
I answered. u I have felt quite enough this 

"1 'spect you J ave I I heerd you giving 
kind o 1 gasps. It's that tall doctor what's the 
worst 'Is 'ands do 'urt, they're so thin ; 
he ought to eat more. I scream when he 
comes near me." 

"That don't 'elp," replied Mrs, Two, philo- 
sophically, " it makes 5 im all the longer* I 
stuffs the corner of the pillow Into my mouth 
to stop making a noise*" 

" I daresay they do that, they're 'ard 
enough. What do you think they stuffs 'em 
with? Cokernuts?" 

Shouts of laughter greeted this suggestion, 
but nurse re appeared, and the conversation 

(i Nurse," recommenced Mrs. Two, "don't 
you think I shall be a-going out soon ? I 'eerd 
? im tell the tall one that I ? ad got over my 
perry komika litis very well There's Mrs. 
lour a-laughing ! Wasn't that what he 
called it, Mrs. Four ? I 'spect vouVe a 

I suggested peritonitis, but that did not 
please her, it was not nearly so long for one 
thing, and then she was sure "komikalitis " 
came in somewhere f | f^m 

" l hmMYmAsm to lose me ' 



nurse," continued the irrepressible M s. Two, 
" but I must go home, 'cos my 'usband's ill 
I feel quite well now, only my arms hurt 
sometimes, but they says that's just my 'air 
fossicles, and that they don't matter/ 1 

u Now, Mrs. Two/' said nurse, who was 
busy with the plates, "never mind the * 'air 
fossicles ' and * perry komikalit is ' ; what 
would you like for dinner — chicken or fish ? " 

" Oh, fish, please, nurse, if its boiled fish ; 
and Mrs, One will like chicken* If you give 
it over here, nurse, I'll cut it up for her. 
She's bashful, so I 'ave to talk for both. 
'Ope as J ow you don't think I makes a noise, 

A greater contrast than Mrs. Two and Mrs. 
One could hardly be imagined. Mrs. One was 
a quiet, refined woman, just recovering from 
an operation, and still so weak that it was an 
effort for her to speak, or, indeed, do any- 
thing for herself; so Mrs. Two, who was as 
good-natured as she was talkative, took her 
under her wing, shared lockers with her, cut 
her bread and butter, and alternately fussed 
over and teased her. 

"Oh, Mrs. One," she would cry out some- 
times, *' how T can you ? Nurse, you can't 
think what awful things Mrs, One is a -lying 
here and saying, and her looking so good too ! 
Oh, Mrs. One, I'm shocked, positively 
shocked ! " and to prove the genuineness of 

her sentiments, Mrs. Two would roll over to 
the extreme edge of her spring bed and only 
save herself by some wonderful gymnastic 
feat from falling on to the floor. 

Wednesdays were usually calm days, forming 
a kind of background to the excitement of 
u doctor's day * T that preceded, and u visitors' 
day 7J that followed, and nothing much 
occurred this first week to attract attention 
except the number of letters, books, boxes of 
flowers, newspapers, etc, that found their 
way into my corner At every knock all 
would sit up expectantly, till the one nearest 
the door would call out : — 

" Another package for Mrs. Four ! " Then 
they would try to count up the number of 
communications I had had, but would get 
tired in the middle and lav down for a doze. 
Truly, I was amazed myself, and wished that 
those people who call the world ugly names 
could have had a taste of my experience : 
more kindly thought and gentle deeds 
could hardly have been compressed into 
the ten long weeks, Grave, busy men 
learnt to write humorous letters, light- 
hearted girls to express tender sympathy ; 
acquaintances transformed themselves into 
friends, and wishes were carried out and 
anticipated as though I possessed the lamp 
of Aladdin, Then the flowers — I realized 
how f the weeks were slipping away by the 

Prut* n PM& hpl 

TIIF WARft^-ftA-'l J* tftf BEU UNDER T 



(f <3. Tavfor. 



succession that came to me — red roses and 
white, sweet peas and daisies, lilies and 
honeysuckle, mignonette and cornflowers, 
poppies and grasses, clematis and pansies, 
carnations and asters : so ran the list. In 
days of rude health I had paid divers 
visits to the Royal Free, so that happily 
for me friends were scattered about in the 
building, and when it was known that I was 
in residence, the genial chairman of the board 
came and said all the kindly things he 
could think of, and the secretary brought 
me such a store of interesting books that 
it is hardly surprising that nurse announced 
her conclusion that I was a "very spoilt 

I shared my good things as much as I 
could, but was not always successful. The 
others would glance at the pictures in the 
illustrated monthlies, but as for the reading — 
well, as Mrs. Three candidly told me, *4t didn't 
come up to Lloyd's penn'orth ! " So, lacking 
the necessary experience to argue this point, 
I in silence returned to Grant Allen and 

Thursday was " locker morning," and 
blessed on that day were those with few 
possessions. I was nearly buried alive under 
mine, as we had to take out our belongings 
and pile them on our beds whilst the lockers 
were scrubbed and dried, and for a good 
hour I could hardly venture to breathe, lest 
I sent a toothbrush in one direction and a 
jelly in another. 

The locker-scrubber was a character: a 
gaunt, bony Irishwoman, who mimicked the 
nurses, and was credited with a temper. 
Which of these two traits most attracted me 
I cannot say, but we became great friends, 
and she showed me the portrait of her son, 
who was " out in Canady, but a-coming home 
this autumn, bless him ! " 

Later in the day came the floor-scrubbers, 
three marvellous women, quite indescribable. 
I have never seen anything like them. One 
of the patients (not myself) watched them 
with envy. " Deary me, now," she said, 
" how I should like to get out and scrub 
that little bit of flooring down there : 
my fingers quite itch for the brush." 
Mine didn't ; still, I did try my hand at 
all that I could : learnt to make nurses' 
frilled strings and many-tailed bandages, and 
with whiting and leather and Mrs. Two's help, 
polished up the artery forceps and other 
formidable-looking instruments, made the 
surgical needles shine, and arranged them in 
a striking design on their white flannel case. 
Our tall doctor, chancing to dart in for an 

instant, smiled more than a little at our novel 

Thursday, from 3.30 to 4.30 p.m. was to 
most of us the shortest hour in the week, and 
we always doubted that it contained the 
regulation number of minutes ; whilst no 
sound was so harsh as the bell that 
announced its expiration; but to some — 
those forlorn souls who had no friends to 
visit them — it was the most trying of times. 
Someone else had noticed this too, and 
always on Thursdays the pleasant face of our 
hospital chaplain looked in at the door, and 
if his bright, brown eyes spied any bedside 
that seemed lonely, he was there in a moment, 
and ever left smiles even where he found 
tears. I had my own share of visitors and 
something over, so he came to see me at less 
busy times, when we talked about architec- 
ture and old city churches, generally ending 
with my favourite topic of workhouses, which 
we both agreed we should like somewhat 
improved ere we retired to their shelter. 

That night there was such a ringing of 
bells, tramping of men, and running about 
with kettles, blankets, and hot-water cans, 
that I came to the conclusion that there 
had been a terrific smash on the Great 
Northern or Midland Railway, and that 
the adjoining accident ward was being filled 
with dilapidated railway servants and pas- 
sengers ; but it proved in the morning that 
only two men had been injured, one poor 
fellow fatally. 

Saturday at 4 a.m. I had my breakfast — a 
mug of hot milk, and tried not to feel hungry 
by ten, when I was due in the theatre. A 
brilliant scarlet dressing-gown, and slippers 
warranted not to pinch a giantess, are reserved 
for one's dibut there. It seemed quite a 
little walk after lying in bed so long, and I 
crept into nurse's good graces by invoking 
memories of warlike ancestors, and marching 
along and mounting the operating table 
without any outward and visible signs of 
qualms and tremors. I am sorry I cannot 
tell everybody all about the examination ; but 
beyond the fact that ether resembles London 
fog flavoured with lemon, and causes a sensa- 
tion in one's ears like going down in the old 
Polytechnic diving-bell, I know nothing. 
After being heralded by the usual bell-ringing, 
I was duly brought back in the state carriage, 
coachmen and footmen in attendance (the 
uninitiated might describe the aforesaid as 
stretcher and porters, but, then, we haven't all 
had the advantages of hospital training). 
When everything was quite comfortable, 
pillows removed and hot water cans arranged, 




From « I*hvio, 6y J 

THE operatic; tiieatrb. 

\ Ellfatt it Fr v . 

I "came to. 1 ' and having arrived at the satis- 
factory conclusion that I was still alive, went 
to sleep till tea-time, 

4i How are you feelings Mrs. Four ? " asked 
Mrs. Seven, as soon as my screen was re- 

" Very com-for-ta-ble, and ve-ry hu-ng-ry ! " 
The words came out in jerks, and f seemed 
to have lost control over my voice, but prac- 
tice — and I had plenty — soon overcame that 

" 'Aint you got a headache ? T1 asked 
Mrs* Two. 

" No ; my head -never -aches -there's -not- 
enough in-side-it ! " 

" My ! ether don't seem to 'ave 'urt you 
much ! You was still as death when they 
brought you in, and you'd quite a bright, 
pink colour Some of 'em cries and struggles 
awful when they're carried back, but I guessed 
you'd be one of the quiet sort/ 1 

"I saved a little cold chicken at dinner : 
do you think you could take that?" asked 
nurse, doubtfully. 

* E I am ready for— for an ostrich!" I 
answered ; so had my chicken forthwith. 

Sunday we had service in our ward, and a 
number of flowers and plants were sent from 

a neighbouring flower service- We kept 
early hours at the Royal Free, so dinner 
came up soon after eleven, We did not all 
feel inclined for our full portion of vegetables 
and pudding, but next to ours was a men's 
surgical ward, and there our varied contribu- 
tions were always thankfully received, 

From 2 till 4 p.m. our friends were 
admitted, and on this day men proved to be 
as general as on Thursday they were rare. 
I found other people's husbands and sweet- 
hearts very amusing, especially when they 
were shy, as their Sunday best generally 
made them* In the evening we sang Ancient 
and Modern Hymns to tunes we composed 
for the occasion, and by 8 p.m. were very 
tired and rather cross. 

So sped the days, and for a week or two I 
felt so well that it seemed ridiculous to lie in 
bed, and my friends used to say my red face 
was a disgrace to the hospital, whilst to the 
house-surgeon's daily question of '* How are 
you, Four?" I had to make the hackneyed 
reply of " Quite well, thank you." The order 
not to stand on my feet was hardest to obey 
in the early morning, when the most able of 
the patients would get up to help with the 



Mrs. Two would come round the ward a la 
matron, and to see her quaint little figure, in 
the tawdriest of dressing-gowns, attempting 
to personate the stately but kindly lady, 
whose dainty grey gown and spotless Nor- 
mandy cap were so familiar, used to make us 
ache with laughter. 

Our life could hardly be described as 
monotonous — we were somewhat passive 
ourselves, but the scenes and actors round 
us were constantly changing. Besides the 
scrubbers and the cleaners, we had regular 
visits from the sweep, coal porters, beef- 
tea boys, and other celebrities. Then, too, 
the weighing machine was in our ward, 
so that strange nurses were constantly bring- 
ing in tiny bundles that they called babies, 
and a broad-shouldered youth in a gay 
dressing-gown came every week with his 
attendant nurse, and informed us with much 
satisfaction how many pounds he had added 
during the last seven days. There was great 
excitement also one Saturday, when a shed in 
the building-yard next the hospital caught 
fire, and it seemed more than probable that 
the adjacent wards would follow its example. 
However, whilst the lady students and 
doctors transported patients to an opposite 
wing, the chaplain, steward, and porters did 
such wonders with the hospital hose, thanks 
to their regular fire-drill, that in an hour or 
two's time both patients and beds had to be 
carried back again. Our ward was con- 
sidered quite safe, but one of the evolutions 
of the hose sent the water through an open 
window behind me, and I had the unexpected 
luxury of a shower bath. 

As time went on I found plenty to do. A 
little story coming out in a current monthly 
brought my scribbling propensities into notice, 
and I forthwith received several commissions 
from Mrs. Six to compose begging-letters for 
her. " I can write well enough, Mrs. Four, 
but I can't compact like you can," she used to 
come and whisper flatteringly to me. She 
wanted some money to support her after 
leaving the hospital till she was strong enough 
to recommence work, so copied one of my 
epistles and sent it to a titled dame, and 
I have never written anything since that 
yielded so much per line (Editors, please 
take the hint). Then most of the women 
had husbands and children, and did not 
seem to know how to treat either; so, 
naturally, I had to instruct them on those 
points, and learnt a good deal in return 
about workhouse infirmaries, laundry-work, 
and barrack-life, all of which, no doubt, will 
be useful. My friends used to say it was 

quite nice my being in the hospital, as they 
actually knew where to find me ! I had 
some visits that made me feel quite honoured 
among women, but, perhaps, one that I en- 
joyed most was when a popular scientist 
came and sat on the ice-box and gave me an 
animated lecturette, which carried me right 
away to the woods and the moors, quicker 
than the fastest train. 

After a week or two I went in for a little 
variety on my own account, developed one or 
two quite original symptoms, became " more 
interesting than ever," and from one till seven 
one morning indulged in unceasing cries and 
contortions ; this performance I repeated at 
intervals, so that I was never again described 
as " one of the quiet sort" I lived for a 
week in hot fomentations ; my temperature 
chart resembled an E. to W. section across 
Europe, with very noticeable Alps, and I soon 
contracted a % strong antipathy to all words 
ending with " itis." 

When once more I was free enough from 
pain to take ah interest in my surroundings, 
I found most of the patients had changed, 
and especially was I attracted by the new 
Mrs. Five and the new Mrs. Two, who 
in my days of utter helplessness were wonder- 
fully good to me, and took it in turns to 
act as lady's-maid. Mrs. Five had been born 
in Africa, married a soldier, travelled in 
China, was a Catholic, and a lover of dogs, 
so we had much to talk about ; whilst the new 
Mrs. Two proved to be a delightful mixture 
of prettiness and comicality. What was left 
of me after my recent experiences was so 
weak, that I had to be nursed up for a long 
time ere any further steps could be taken, 
and, as the weeks went by, it seemed that I 
had become such a permanent part of the 
institution, that I wondered whether I should 
not be justified in applying to the Board for 
a uniform and a salary. 

One evening Mrs. Five was in tears, in 
spite of having had visits from her priest and 
her husband, and I found. the trouble was 
that the next day she had to appear in the 
theatre. I told her I envied her, as after a 
few days' rest she would be able to return 
home, but she would not be comforted. By 
that time I had learnt to like and to trust 
the once-dreaded house-surgeon, and had 
acquired a habit of waking as he made his 
last round; and that night, instead of the 
usual question in passing, he came and sat on 
my locker, and said, very gently : " I think, 
Four, to-morrow you had better have a little 
more ether, &T?d|fl*5P| fpiU see how you are 




Anything that might terminate the per- 
petual lying in bed to me seemed welcome, 
so that my "Oh, thank you^ doctor ! " was 
so emphatic that he went away with query 
" delirious " writ plain upon his face, 
Four a.m. found Mrs. Five still much 
attached to her pocket-handkerchief, hut I 
whispered that 1 too was going to the theatre, 
and she cheered up at once. 

My turn came first, so that I was already 
half-con scious when Mrs* Five was brought 
back. My screen prevented me seeing her, 
but in spite of my stupor her voice reached 

" Is Mrs. Four all right ? " she asked u Is 
Mrs, One all right? Is Mrs. Six all right? 
Is Mrs, Three all right? Is nurse all right ? 

no precedent for such an irregularity, enjoyed 
a quiet chat with an Irish friend, whilst the 
others were peacefully dreaming. They satd 
it was I who had been dreaming when I told 
them of my visitor, but I knew better. 

When Mrs. Three's turn came to go into 
the theatre, she was decidedly conversational 
on the return journey, and as she was 
brought into the ward, protested loudly that 
she " hadn't heard no music/' and then went 
for one of the porters in a most pugilistic 
manner, and informed him that if he " wasn't 
man enough, she was!" She explained to 
us afterwards on her recovery that she had 
mistaken him for her husband ! 

I soon lost my friend, Mrs, Five* Her 
husband caught cold, and she was perfectly 

From a Photo, by) 


U, rf G, ThvU>r. 

Is my husband all right? Is Mrs, Four 
all right?" 

Such interest roused me, and at the top of 
my voice I called out : " Give my love to 
Mrs. Five, please, nurse, and tell her that I 
am all right, and hope that she is all right." 

I was only conscious of making this tender 
speech once, but the others who had not lost 
their senses subsequently assured us that this 
affecting dialogue was repeated at frequent 
intervals, much to the indignation of Mrs. 

"Just hark at } em, Mrs. Two," she said, 
" sending their loves to one another ! Why 
can't they be quiet ? As if we could be all 
right with their noise a-going on ! How are 
we ever to get our afternoon nap, with the 
two of them at it ? " 

However, fortunately for the harmony of 
the ward, we too went to sleep, but after an 
hour I woke up again, and though there was 

certain that unless she went home he 
would have asthma, bronchitis, pleurisy, and 
pneumonia all at once, so she asked for her 
discharge and stated the reason. 

The house - surgeon looked doubtful. 
" What has come to this ward ? " he asked, 
looking round at the empty beds. "One, 
two, three —you are the fourth patient who 
has asked to go home because her husband 
is ill ! ;l 

M Oh, but doctor, mine is real ! " exclaimed 
Mrs Five so emphatically, that I think it was 
just as well for her that the other wives had 

At the physician's next visit he told me 
mv only hope was in operation, and to gain the 
necessary strength for that anticipated event, 
I was permitted to get up for an hour or two 
every day* I felt quite proud when I had once 
more learnt to stand ^lone, although even then 
I was anything hut er^L.and, to quote nurse's 

9 2 


description, " Hopped about the ward like a 
young partridge." However, after a day or 
two I became less like a right angle, and was 
then allowed in the hospital square. Among 
the many interesting sights I beheld whilst 
out and about was the doctors in full theatre 
costume. They wear a large, terra-cotta- 
coloured mackintosh apron with a bib, some- 
times a cap to match, and with sleeves rolled 
up to their elbows; they look very like — 
please don't tell them I said so — very like 

If there is one thing I pride myself upon 
more than another it is upon being a judge of 
character. In the hospital I tested this faculty 
twice. Going to the service in the men's ward 
the Sunday of that week, I was much impressed 
by No, Sixteen, With his grand head, thick, 
snowy hair, and stalwart frame, he looked 
like a noble old general, and before the end 
of the last hymn, I had composed a mental 
biography of him, full of gallant deeds and 
high aspirations \ but, thinking facts would 
probably prove even more satisfactory than 
fiction, I made a few inquiries of nurse. 

She laughed, 

" That man ! " she exclaimed, li Old Six- 
teen ! You were telling me that the last few 
nights you had heard cries of i Murder ! * 
* Police ! ' That's one of his pretty little 
ways ! He wakes all the patients in his own 
ward, and as many more as he can, Two 
women come to see him, and claim him as 
husband, but he declines to own either of 
them. Yes, he is a nice man ! " 

The otber case was a young, pretty girl, 
with a soft voice and gentle manner. I think 
I cried when she went away. Well, I heard 
of her afterwards she was in Holloway Gaol 
for assaulting a 
policeman ! 

After seven weeks, 
the day came to 
leave my corner in 
Elizabeth, Special 
nurses had been told 
off to attend me, the 
Isolated Ward had 
been disinfected, the 
silk had been steri- 
lized, the dressings 
prepared, and what 
with personal appli- 
cations of turpen- 
tine, carbolic, and 
ether, patient, as well 
as nurse, had had a 
lively time. I had 
many farewells 

and good wishes that morning, the more 
touching, perhaps, as my predecessor in the 
Isolated had never returned. My old Irish- 
woman came over to see me, but when I shook 
hands and said si Good-bye/* she replied : 
u You jist take that word back ! It ain't 
lucky ! I ain't a-going to wish you anything 
but a very good morning. I shall find my 
way upstairs to have a peep at you before 
many days are over, you be sure ! !? 

I had quite intended, when being borne along 
on the stretcher, to show my appreciation of 
the stately procession by waving a triumphant 
farewell to my ward friends, but my hand- 
kerchief had most unaccountably got itself 
into a very limp condition, and refused to 
do anything but form itself into a nasty damp 
ball, which was most annoying, Talking of 
stretchers, I have tried a good many means 
of locomotion, from wheelbarrows and round- 
abouts to Atlantic steamers and Canadian 
hacks, and I really think stretchers compare 
favourably with any of them, so long as the 
bearers do not keep step ; but unless the front 
man's right foot moves with the back man's 
left, the result is almost as trying as travelling 
over an American road. Of course, they 
manage this matter perfectly at the Royal 
Free, and I so enjoyed my ride that I longed 
to ask them to take one or two turns round 
the square, but resisted the temptation. 

My next experience was chloroform, and 
plenty of it I liked it better than ether. 
Then, for an hour, doctors, matron, and 
nurses worked their best and their hardest, 
and I was satisfactorily finished. I did not 
wake up to that fact for three or four hours 
afterwards ; then, in a weak whisper, that I 
could hardly hear myself, I begged for water. 





A teaspoon fu I of hot water every ten minutes 
was all they dared to give me for hours and 
hours, and I felt I should die if I did not 
have gallons. I thought of Dives, Sir Philip 
Sidney, and Dante's Inferno, but nothing 
stopped that dreadful thirst. 

Otherwise I was wonderfully comfortable, 
in spite of feeling somewhat like a mummy, 
I had no pillows for my head, but, to make 
up for that, plenty under my knees, which 
were also tied together, lest I should be 
tempted to try any pedestrian feats ; but the 
arrangement that pleased me best was the 
cage on which the bed-clothes were sup- 
ported. I saw at once that it formed a 
delightful nook in which to stow away letters 
and books, and confided that idea to nurse, 
but she did not seem charmed, My skilful 
physician came every 
day, and, what pleased 
me as much, so did his 
dog Peter, most intelli- 
gent of Irish terriers, 
who proved his nation- 
ality by his readiness to 
make friends even with 
such a blue - lipped, 
yellow-cheeked mortal 
as I was. 

For days and for 
nights I lay perfectly 
still, and made the 
i n t eres ti ng d i sco very 
that not using one's 
muscles has the same 
effect as over - tiring 
them. My hands ached 
as though they would 
drop off, but strangest 
of all was the pain in 
my jaw, I bore it till I 
felt desperate, then 
motioned to nurse and whispered : " I 
am quite certain that I dislocated my jaw 
when I was under chloroform, nurse ; it is 
dreadful ! !J 

"You silly girl," she said, laughing; "of 
course it hurts you, just because you have 
been neither eating nor talking," 

Apropos of eating, when the feeding -up 
process was supposed to begin, my poor nurse 
tried brandy, hot milk and cold, peptonized 
milk, beef teas and extracts, lemon and 
barley water, meat juices and jellies, but it 
tta_s all wasted energy ; my internal arrange- 
ments were on strike, and nothing could I 
take, and^ to crown the situation, I announced 


From n Pkt*te, by £, F r <Jf:arUw <t *<nu, Htptrt Strati 

Vol, ix -13. 


that I was suffering from acute indigestion. 
No wonder the physician shook his head 
at me ! 

"I should like to know how you manage 
that," he said, M when you will not take any- 
thing to digest. What is all this I hear about 
such constant sickness ? You know we 
cannot have that kind of thing. A stop must 
be put to it ! Vou will "—and he paused to 
think of a sufficiently terrible threat — "you 
will spoil your figure ! "' 

When I did get stronger it was by leaps and 
by bounds. The house-surgeon being away, 
Ins duties were taken up by a locum ttmns, on 
whom they sat somewhat more lightly* On 
one of his visits to the Isolated he informed 
me that I was getting on so well that I had 
" quite ceased to be interesting"; he really 
;-i did "not know why he 
still came to see me." 

" You see what I can 
do/' he continued. 
"Yours is something 
like a cure ; but, would 
you believe it ? The 
other day I heard nurse 
trying to make out it 
was all her affair, and I 
shouldn't be at all sur- 
prised if the operating 
physician had the cool- 
ness to consider that he 
had had something to 
do with it, True merit 
never is appreciated in 
this world !" and, with 
a look of comic despair, 
he departed. 

Most of my nurses 
were pretty, and the 
last, in addition, was 
a decidedly fashionable 
damsel One afternoon I saw her surveying 
my garments with considerable amazement: 
the shoes of manly breadth seemed especial!)' 
to fill her with horror, but she was anxious 
not to hurt my feelings, so came over and 
said, with a forced smile : u Do you think 
with ray help you could get into your — your 
high minded clothes ? " 

The next day and the next I was carried 
down into the square and put in the sun to 
brown, and on the third day, much to my 
own surprise, I walked down the stairs and 
out of the gate, carrying with me more bright 
and pleasant memories than 1 ever thought 
could gather round a visit to a hospital. 

Original from 


A Vision of Gold. 

By J. Holt Schooling.* 

(Fellow of the Royal Statistical Society, etc.) 

HE Standard for October 2nd, 
1894, contained a paragraph 
about a famous will of 1887, 
and from this paragraph I 
quote these words : " . . . . 
The testator devised and 
bequeathed his residuary real and personal 
estate, of the value apparently of nearly 
^3,000,000, in trust for investment and to 
accumulate the income, by reinvestment at 
compound interest, for seven years after his 
death, .... in trust for his said grand- 
nephew . . . , absolutely, if he should then 

be living, The fortune to which 

Mr. . . . will thus become entitled on 
Tuesday next will probably, with the seven 
years' accumulations at compound interest, 
be not much less than four millions 
sterling. . . ." 

"Tuesday next" was the 9th October, 
1894, exactly seven years after the death of 
this testator who caused three millions to 
become four millions by leaving his bequest 
to accumulate at compound interest for seven 
years. " What an immense increase," I said. 
"Surely there's something wrong about the 
figures." Prompted by curiosity, I turned 
on the calculating gear which chances to 
form part of my brain substance, and found 
that the- very moderate interest rate of four 
guineas per cent, per annum would convert 
three millions into four during the short pro- 
bationary period of seven years specified by 
this millionaire testator. Here is the growth 
expressed in round numbers : — 

9th October, 1887 ,£3,000,000 

1888 3,126,000 

1889 3*257,000 

» „ 1890 3»394iOOo 

1891 3»S36,ooo 

1892 3,684,000 

„ „ 1893 3,839.000 

„ M 1894 4,000,000 

This is distinctly cheering. We have but 
to invest three millions at ^4 4s. od. per 
cent, interest — not at any usurious rate — 
vegetate inexpensively for seven years — a 
familiar term of rustication — and then, when 
we "come out," this magician Interest will 
present us with one million sterling in addition 
to our original three. 

This result stimulated my curiosity. Not 
having the three millions handy, but wanting 
a few thousands, I began jotting down some 
calculations as to how easily I might now 

* f opyright by John Holt Schooling, 1895. 

by Google 

possess them if some thoughtful person had 
invested even a small sum for me when I was 
born (1859) and had left that to accumulate 
at interest until this present year (1895). The 
results showe<f\that a poor ;£ 1,000 invested 
in 1859 at 5 per cent, interest would have 
become in 1895 ^5,800, so that I might now 
have had nearly ^5,000 — the thoughtful 
investor still retaining his original thousand. 

The omission in 1859 of this simple and 
kindly act is now distinctly not cheering. 
But perhaps no one who had the thought had 
the thousand, or no one who had the thousand 
had the thought — so I dropped the ^1,000 
basis, did some more, calculations, and 
eventually arrived at a penny basis of invest- 
ment of longer standing than 1859. The 
facts which cropped up began to astonish me, 
then caused golden dreams— some of which 
I have here pictured in black and white — and 
finally showed me how to become the 
Universal Benefactor of the World at a future 
date. At a date to be fixed by me, there 
shall be no more poverty, no more wretched 
struggles for money, no more warping and 
twisting of the good that is in us by 
desire for gold — I have found a mighty 
Enchanter and Magician who shall work 
my will ; his name is Compound Interest, 
and, unlike the alchemists of old, my 
magic servant requires for his crucible, 
not gold, not silver, not gems, but merely 
One Penny. This amount, therefore, I 
propose to place in the hands of responsible 
trustees " in trust for investment and to 
accumulate the income, by reinvestment at 
5 per cent, compound interest for one 
thousand years after the present date (1895), 
in trust for the Population of the World, 
absolutely, for those that shall then be 
living." At the end of the time specified 
(a.d. 2895) there will be (approximately) 
220,000 million persons in the world, and 
as my Penny will have then increased to 
^6,443,000,000,000,000,000, there will be 
for each person the very comfortable pre- 
sent of twenty - nine millions sterling 
(^29,286,364), and this result of making 
everyone a millionaire will be achieved by 
me at a cost of One Penny only. 

- And now let us see what this Enchanter 
could have now done for us of the nineteenth 
century had he been set to work 1895 years 
ago with one dull Penny to simmer and 
quicken in his magic pot for the ultimate 

Original from 



benefit of the present population of the 

Wagner and Supan, the German statis- 
ticians, estimated in 1891 the population of 
the earth at 1,480 million persons. As more 






So © 


I 000 



IS 00 

I 700 






ONE PENNY mv^kii. at: tU. Uj^rwn^ 

*f- ^yvwo potvuni. I air 5" jux- ccmt fu\- 

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(uxjjfes uio %^ Cffe.'to 

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**^3^ l % 3« o % o »«o*o*»ft % * oo,*** % * o 

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$ ^ i • 2. % o • « % o • *o o o % ©» • o 4 

»ooo • oee 

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I 4Xoo I© 

BM i?*nl!f ? a * "'V ***?* «*?• K § dom i' ? w Wormed that all the working flow** which produced the retulU 

than one-half of this estimated number was 
based upon the results of actual censuses, 
and as the remainder was very carefully 
arrived at, we shall not be far away from 
truth if we say that there are now (1895) 
1,500 million persons in the world. 


If, in a. d. 1, a man had wished to be hailed 
in later centuries Universal Benefactor of the 
World, he could have achieved his wish by 
investing the equivalent of a modern penny 
at 5 per cent, compound interest per annum, 

the interest to 

accumulate year 
by year for the 
benefit of future 
generations — just 
after the fashion 
of the testator in 
1887, mentioned 
at the commence- 
ment of this paper. 
Fig. 1 shows us, 
century by cen- 
tury, the magic 
growth of this 
penny if left in 
the hands of my 
Enchanter. My 
working figures 
are given in col. 
iii. of Fig. 1, so 
that anyone accus- 
tomed to logarith- 
mic calculations 
can check the 
accuracy of my 
results — I did not 
dream over my 
calculations, if 
later I dreamed 
the golden dreams 
illustrated farther 

The wealth 
accumulated dur- 
ing the 1895 years 
would have now 
been so immense, 
that we shall find 
some little diffi- 
culty in realizing 
the vast golden 
growth of this 
penny unless we 
press into our ser- 
vice various aids 
to imaginative 
- .^.cui* wu, w en** «iete conception, some 

of which I have 
endeavoured to illustrate. 

In Fig. 2 we see the Rain of Sovereigns 
for One Thousand Years. Imagine the earth 
transformed into a huge flat slab of gold, 
more than 509,000 miles square and 
one mile thick, and floating in space. 



i8 9< 



is- %X7 1 1 
X 38 oX t 


Z 38ol I 

X 38 oXf 


*toxi S*f 
X 38oXf 

1 38oX| 

* 58oa-| 

X*.o*g 62. 
X*|4ff *e 





Let every person 

— man, woman, 
and child — now 
living in the world 
(1,500 million 
persons) continu- 
ously discharge a 
Maxim gun loaded 
with sovereigns 
instead of bullets 
for one thousand 
years. Each gun 
fires into space 
twelve hundred 
sovereigns per 
minute, which 
drop over the 
edges of th* earth 

— see the tiny 
corner of the earth 
shown in Fig, 2. 
At the end of one 
thousand years' 
continuous dis- 
charge of sove- 
reigns from 1,500 
millions of Maxim 
guns upon an 

earth of gold, at the rate of 1.200 sove- 
reigns per minute each gun, only an in- 
finitesimal fraction of the money would 
have been shot into space out of the accu- 
mulated interest of One Penny invested 
at 5 per cent, compound interest in Anno 
Domini 1, and left to accumulate until Anno 
Domini 1895. This incredible result is no 
freak of fancy, but a solid fact, and I append 


rid of his or her share in the vast accumu- 
lations of one penny. Let us have a game 
at throwing away bank-notes instead of 
sovereigns, and see if we can then get along 
more effectively than in Fig, 2 with the 
disposal of our individual wealth. 

In Fig. 4 we have the Deluge of Million- 
pound Bank-notes for One Thousand Years. 
Here we see the earth transformed into 


uvUt mJU* -**+ i**ii-; <!■*>• Y-^* T*& > t^t p^ - 1 *-*■* f****> 

J£ S^jfex j#lUwi.jU^ ■ {i*± Kj F ^H~|f 1*I |L p ],T 1 **'JhS ,1 - t " ^ xi t ^."J^o* i^Uqi i-]tp * j.-j * | -J if, 3 lm 

ffV (j^y 

3s J 1 Ofl-*^*» O e^O o a 





the calculation in Fig- 3, so that anyone who 
cares to check it may do so. The cost of 
making an earth of solid gold, added to the 
cost of firing away all these sovereigns for a 
thousand years, would exhaust only one- 
twenty- five -thousand -millionth part of the 
money accumulated in 1895, and which is 
shown in the bottom line of Fig. 1. 

We have seen from Fig. 2 and the descrip- 
tion of it how futile would be this attempt 
made by each person in the world to get 

Digitized by CiOOgle 

two vast rectangular blocks of gold t each 
(neatly) it, 300 million miles long by three 
miles wide by eight miles thick. These two 
blocks of gold float side by side in space, 
with a great gulf eight miles deep separating 
them. Along both the inside edges of the 
entire length of this precipice stand the 
world's population {1,500 million persons), 
and each second ever)' person throws into 
this bottomless gulf a bundle consisting of 
one thousand bank-notes, each note being" 





worth one million sterling. At the end of 
this continuous deluge for one thousand 
years, and including the cost of a golden 
earth, only one-twelve-hundred-millionth part 
of the money would have been thrown away 

out of the accumu- 
lated interest of 
One Penny in- 
vested at 5 per 
cent, compound 
interest in Anno 
Domini 1, and left 
to accumulate 
until Anno Domini 


There is here a 
distinct improve- 
ment as regards 
the spending of 
money by each 
individual. Still, 
and despite the 
fact that every 
single person has 
been assumed to 
throw away ijooo 
millions of pounds 
sterling once every 
second for the 
period of a thou- 
sand years con- 
tinuously, each of 
us would only have 
succeeded in get- 
ting rid of the very 
small fraction of 
our fortune which 
is represented by 
placing the figure 
1 above a line 
and the figures 
1^94,300,000 be- 
neath the line. 

Incidentally, we 
may note that each 
of the bundles of 
bank-notes thrown 
away every second by each person contains 
one-and-a-half times the National Debt of 
this country (see the little white specks falling 
in Fig, 4). I append in Fig, 5 the details of 
the calculation relating to Fig. 4, merely for 

pi la c o 

a O 0A O )t 

u^^l ->.;£* 

^ ,»jU - *£. ^_ x. 

U, it+ * '* 



1 J.0O ooooeO 

*j ^ tfv am- h*^ »v . j (■ 1 h-*- rfc 



^.V W.-.Votm^artd Onrprnkr, iwrHn? with more detail than it A*r* uettUftrrj 1 , tumftKted th* i-oUuu uftht ^arth at 2S9,3*0. 006,0 >y cuftir mUct. 

^« /^#. j a «d a / ^Jn qln arrro iti 


f- h 


the use of readers 
who may, quite 
rightly, prefer to 
test the facts on 
their own account, 
As regards this 
Fig. 4, I thought it 
would be interest- 
ing to show a fac- 
simile of a bank- 
note value one 
million sterling, so 
that w T e might 
obtain a graphic 
idea of the enor- 
mous value of each 
of the little white 
specks which are 
seen in Fig. 4, 
every one of which 
specks represents 
one thousand of 
these scarce bank- 
notes. After apply- 
ing to the Bank of 
England for a 
million - pound 
note, I learnt from 
Mr. G, K Glennie 
that " the Bank are 
unable to grant 
your request, as 
such a proceeding 
is contrary to law*" 
Mr. Glennie was 
kind enough to 
send me a copy of 
the clause in the 
Act relating to 

this matter, and, from this clause, I found 
that, unwittingly, I had invited the Directors 
of the Bank of England, the publisher of 
this Magazine, and every person who should 
have in his " custody " or *' possession " a 
copy of such facsimile (/>., about one- 
seventieth part of the population of England 
and Wales — who are purchasers of this 
Maga/inc) to join me in committing a 
felony, the punishment for which is 



41 Penal Servitude for any Term not exceed- 
ing Fourteen Years, and not less than 
Three Years," or, imprisonment ** for any 
Term not exceeding Two Years, with or 
without Hard Labour, and with or without 
Solitary Confinement" As it might be 
inconvenient to the prison officials to have 
so many new convicts at one time, we must, 
I fear, dispense with the facsimile of a 
million-pound bank-note* 

r ^4** 





7 Tt 

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xrtB'i^**-! C, a*.iv mm. Tt4 . t 





Original from 





Having so much money at our disposal, 
we shall scarcely be able to spend it on this 
earth even by such reckless extravagances as 
have been illustrated, so we will do a piece of 
astronomical engineering, and make a road to 
the sun. Fig. 6 shows a Road of Gold from 
the Earth to the Sun t and may certainly claim 
to be the most expensive engineering project 

ever designed. 
The dimensions of 
this road of solid 
gold are 92^ mil- 
lions of miles long, 
more than 8)4 
millions of miles 
wide, and more 
than 8*4 millions 
of miles thick. An 
express train tra- 
velling along this 
road at the rate of 
60 miles an hour 
would not reach 
thesun until nearly 
1 76 years after the 
date of departure 
from the earth. 
Some idea of the 
width and of the 
thickness of this 
golden road may 
be gathered from 
the statement that 
it would be more 
than one thousand 
times as wide and 
as thick as the dia- 
meter of the earth 
(say 8,000 miles), 
and by noting that 
the railway train 
shown m Fig. 6 
is no ordinary 
train, hut is (ap- 
proximately) seven 
million miles long from the front of the 
engine to the back of the guard's van. The 
distance between the two rails on which the 
wheels of this train revolve, but which are too 
far away to be distinguished by us as tivo 
rails, is about 140 thousand miles, which is, 
therefore, the approximate distance between 
the two buffers on the front of the engine* 

I ■ ; t c .. 
I H ' 

e 4 _a«p Fi^iuoflP^^ unto * 17 * i f j+. 3 t * if- 3*7-5" -5— I Z 5 'X 1 **• **■ 7 j ' 

J_ IOOOOOOO O ^ JOJ<) O&OO POO f I O QOC^o O « * fco > »© * 1 ^ » i t 5~ i S 7 V I 'J tf 9 D f- 







By making such a road as this, and of the 
dimensions given, we could exhaust the 
accumulated interest of Oae Penny which is 
set out in the bottom line of Tig* i. [Sceptical 
readers are invited to check the accuracy of 
the calculations given in Fig. 7,] 

In 1882 a project was suggested to tap the 
force of Niagara by constructing turbines, or 
water-wheels, and to transmit this force of 
falling water throughout the United States- 
The water-power of Niagara was then estimated 
at ten million cubic feet of water-fall per 
second, and the value of this utilized force 
was estimated at ,£300,000 a day. In 
1889, the City of Buffalo contracted 
with the Niagara Power Company for 10,000 
horse-power at ,£30,000 per annum, to 
light the city and drive factories by a cable 
twenty miles in length [from Niagara Falls to 
Buffalo City — we will make a golden Niagara, 
and see if we can 
thereby get rid of 
some of this super- 
abundant wealth of 

In Fig, 8 we have 
the Vision of the 
Golden Mountain 
and the Niagara of 
Molten Gold. 
Imagine a great 
mountain of gold, 
as large as the 
earth, with a Nia- 
gara of molten gold 
rushing over the 
precipice into 
space for 1,000 
million years con- 
tinuously. During 
every second of this 
inconceivably long 
period, as many 
cubic feet of 
molten gold fall 
over the precipice 
as there are cubic 
feet of water stated 
to be falling over 
the real Niagara ; 
i\t. r gold to the 
value of nearly one 
thousand times the 
amount of the 
National Debt of 
this country rushes 
away every second. 
At the end of the 
1,000 million years' 

rushing of this golden Nmgarji, only a small 
fraction of the money would have been ex- 
pended out of the accumulated interest oi 
One Penny invested at 5 percent, compound 
interest in Anno Domini 1, and left to accu 
mulate until Anno Domini 1895 — see Fig. 1. 
In order to exhaust all this accumulated 
money it would be necessary to set at work 
100 millions of golden Niagaras, on 100 
millions of golden mountains, instead of only 
one mountain and one Niagara, as seen in 
Fig. 8, and to extend the working period 
to more than 30,000 million years of con- 
tinuously-rushing torrents of molten gold* 

This statement seems to go beyond the 
limits of human belief, and, as I do not wish 
anyone to rest content with the mere state- 
ment itself, I give, in Fig. 9, the materials for 
checking the truth of these results. [By the 
way, any person who may set about the 




calculations in Figs. 3, 5, 7, 9, and 11, will 
be materially aided if he use a table of 
logarithms. Otherwise it may be necessary 
to work with charcoal on the walls of a spare 
room, using a step-ladder, and going down it 
step by step as the work proceeds, shifting 
the ladder round the spare room as one 
calculation follows another. Verbum sat 

And now we come to the Dream of the 
Golden Earths. The procession of globes 
in ^pace shown in Fig. 10 represents 
25,000 millions of spheres made of solid 
gold, each one being equal to the earth in 
size. This number is sufficient to supply 
every living person in the world (1,500 
million persons) with more than sixteen golden 
globes apiece, each one being as large as the 
earth. The value of all this gold —at one 
sovereign for 123*27447 grains troy — is 

coldly regard our wealth — which would not 
be wealth, but poverty. 

And so collapses the philanthropic scheme 
propounded early in this paper — for what 
would be the good of giving to every person 
living in a.d. 2895 the sum of twenty-nine 
millions of pounds sterling, when, by so 
doing, gold would lose its value as a 
purchasing medium? "Therefore, to carry 
out the scheme of endowing posterity with 
vast wealth would earn the universal execra- 
tions of mankind, and not their gratitude as 
at the first glance seemed probable. 

And now that we have dreamed strange 
golden dreams, logically illustrated even 
though they be based on hypothetical facts, 
and have found non-existent for us the 
Enchanter of a.d. 1— let us, after our piece 
of fantastic play, not forget that there were 
indeed Magicians of old whose golden 

- g M.MC4AA tn" flC^^*#*4 


*T" IS oo % ooo s oo<> =» lfc-"7o5* ^t>UU*A, < Lojjhs fri. a*.<Ak. [vftvscrw. 



equal to the value of the accumulated interest 
of One Penny invested at 5 per cent, com- 
pound interest in Anno Domini 1, and left to 
accumulate until Anno Domini 1895 : see 
Fig. 1, bottom line, and check, if you wish, 
the calculation in Fig. 11. 

Here, then, is the culminating trick of the 
Magician whose achievements have now been 
shown to us — he gives us sixteen earths 
apiece, and each one is made of solid gold ! 
But, stay — if we all had so much gold, 
nobody would want any, and therefore all 
this vast wealth of ours would be as withered 
leaves for any value in it. A loaf of 
bread could not be bought even at the 
expenditure of a mass of gold equal in bulk 
to the size of England. A golden continent 
would not buy a coat, and a horse would be 
worth more than one of our sixteen golden 
earths. We should all have so much gold, 
and yet be so poor withal, that, like the 
moon in Fig. 10, we should indifferently and 

thoughts, if not their money, were invested 
for us of later generations. Invested 
at compound intellect, by the operation of 
which force, as these early thoughts spread 
and fructified they made men's brains 
pregnant with other thoughts of worth, 
and these again bred others. And so, 
spreading and circling-out— as the river's 
twinkling agitation caused by a stone thrown 
into it at Richmond Bridge does send even 
its faint influence across the Atlantic— this 
ever-massing thought is even now passing us 
and going oh to dim futurity, where some 
man's penny of thought will become, as it has 
become, worth more than millions of sterling 
gold by reason of the living germ put 
into it by some old dead brain. And, at 
some time, these true Enchanters will, by the 
ultimate living of good and death of evil, 
cause to vanish from this earth not poverty 
only, but also the far worse ills than poverty 
which come from bad hearts and weak heads 

Vol. u -w, 

by Google 

Original from 

WAS trying to keep myself 
warm on the windy sea-front 
of Yokohama, in Japan. The 
bare-legged rickshaw men, 
huddled up in dark blue hoods, 
exposed to the fierce north- 
easters that swept the " bunds ' and " bluffs " 
of this wind -swept but interesting city, 
looked as yellow, as bilious, and as melan- 
choly as "human horses " could well look on 
a Japanese cab-rank* All they wanted was 
a fare; a fare to warm them, a fare to make 
them trot and restore circulation to their 
wiry frames. Again and again I had ex- 
changed the warm, unhealthy, over-heated 
atmosphere of the Imperial Hotel for the 
blasts and wind storms of the wave-tossed 

What wonder that the "boys/* the cheery, 
good-natured idlers of Yokohama, the pas- 
sengers, the agents, the newspaper men, the 

interviewers, the business men, and the gam- 
blers of this " inn of strange meetings "should 
prefer the bar and its merriment of good- 
fellowship and "cocktails" to the "bar 
and its moaning ?I across the dull and 
wintry waves of the Yokohama sea -board? 
It was a strange experience, but one repeated 
again and again at every resting-place 
and treaty port all round the world. If, con- 
founded and demoralized by the east 
wind, I sought the cosy but oven-like 
hotel, I was certain to be the victim of well- 
intentioned hospitality, since not to drink 
with everybody to whom you are introduced 
on every possible occasion is death to your 
reputation as a " good fellow/' whilst to drink 
whenever and wherever you are invited to a 
coterie or companionship is death to your 
constitution. Show your nose at the hotel 
bar, and you must do as the bar does : fly 
from temptation and rush into the east winds 
outside! and you will be pinned by a circle of 
rickshaw men who are only too ready to trundle 
you in the " go-carts J> of Japan, to shops, to 
native quarters, to views, to temples, to china 
factories, to warehouses of curios, to tattooers, 
to homes of strange dancers, to tea-houses in 




sly corners, tea-houses destitute of romance, 
but overflowing with whisky and alcohol in 
its various forms : in fact, to every temptation 
devised at the headquarters of modern 

But I " had made my small investments 
in Japanese curios; I had turned over 
all the silks and satins and "kimonos" 
that interested me, both in the modern 
and native quarters of Yokohama; I had 
seen Japanese dances, and eaten a Japan- 
ese dinner in slippered feet reclining un- 
comfortably on the matted floor ; I had 
been hospitably and regally entertained both 
by Europeans and natives ; I had been up 
hill and down dale to see all the sights and 
mountain rest-houses and sulphur springs 
and snows and sleets of Alpine Japan ; I had 
worshipped Fusiyama from every available 
prospect ; and, anxious for still more infor- 
mation, I looked up an old school-friend, of 
Marlborough days, who lived in a handsome 
house in the European quarter of Yokohama, 
as befitted one of its leading men. We had 
parted last in the famous " B " dormitory of 
the Old house at Marlborough, and we met 
over a quarter of a century afterwards at a 
dinner-table in Yokohama. 

I was boasting to my old school-fellow of 
the wonderful things I had done in a short 
space of time ; how I had seen Nikko, and 
Kioto, and Tokio, and Atami ; how I had 
visited Kamakura and Enoshima ; how I had 
walked up snow precipices and scalded my 
hands in boiling sulphur, and been rick- 
shawed for hundreds of miles and rested at 
Myanoshita, and had a bird's-eye view of 
Japanese life in every shape and form, when 
the good old fellow put on his considering 
cap and said : — 

" But you have not seen old Playfort, who 
lives on the race-course and is a Yokohama 
character ? " 

At once I owned up that the pleasure of 
old Playfort's acquaintance had been hitherto 
denied me. 

" But you must see old Playfort," observed 
my friend, " he is dying to see you ; he has 
talked of nothing else but you since your 
steamer arrived. He has begged and entreated 
all the boys to bring you up to him, and if 
you have nothing better to do, I will drive you 
up to the race-course this afternoon." 

I assented : but I was as much in the 
dark as ever concerning the trade, or 
occupation, or idiosyncrasies of old Playfort. 

My friend at once enlightened me. He 
was an old English actor, he had seen 
Edmund Kean, had acted with Macready 

and Phelps, had toured and " stocked " 
in nearly all the best provincial towns of 
England, had been an actor in America for 
years, and had now settled down as the land- 
lord of a curious kind of old English inn or 
shanty on the breezy race-course on the hill 
overlooking Yokohama and the sea. 

" But how on earth did an English actor 
manage to find his way to Japan ? " I observed. 

" Oh ! I don't know : drifted here, I sup- 
pose ; but he must tell you his story in his 
own fashion. All I know is that he wants to 
see you, and that I promised to bring you up 
on the first opportunity." 

That same afternoon my old school-fellow 
and I drove through an outlying grey Japanese 
village, and found ourselves at the gate o\ 
the "Shakespeare Inn," a curious, embowered, 
tumble-down old beer-house or grog-shop, 
within a convenient walking distance of 

At the rustic gate of the "Shakespeare Inn," 
which title was placarded on a sign-board 
amongst the trees, my thoughts were irresis- 
tibly taken back to dear old England. The 
cottage bore no resemblance whatever to the 
ordinary grey-boarded and grey-slated shanties 
of native Japan. It might have been trans- 
planted from an old Warwickshire lane, and 
I am certain I have seen dozens of inns of 
the same pattern in Shakespeare's countty. 

The illusion of English home-life was kept 
up in the garden, in the shrubberies, in the 
miniature arbours of the curious little 
cottage, so distinct from the dismal bungalows 
found in a land of paper-covered windows 
and squeaking shutters. 

The pleasant illusion was only lost in the 
public smoke-room, where shock-headed Japs, 
and down-at-heel, untidy women, men with 
scrubbing-brush heads of hair, and girls in 
frousy-padded "kimonos," also down-at-heel 
and sloppety, took the place of " Ostler Joe " 
and the neat-handed " Phyllis " in her pink 
print gown, so intimately associated with an 
English inn. 

Old Playfort, the landlord of the " Shake- 
speare Inn," was undoubtedly a character and 
a favourite. Every Englishman and English- 
woman in Yokohama w r as familiar with the 
old actor. Old stagers were wont to turn in 
to his best parlour with their wives and 
daughters on a Sunday afternoon to drink a 
cup ?f tea and have a chat with the old man, 
and the youngsters, the stewards, the sailors, 
the engineers, the captains, and the mates 
of every imaginable vessel touching at this 
Japanese port knen r that they could find a 
drop of wholescmf-jtiqw^rL. after, a long walk, 



at the " Shakespeare 
Inn } " kept by an old 
English acton 

I entered the room 
and was formally intro- 
duced to mine host. 
He was a fine, tall, 
handsome old fellow, 
erect, with a command- 
ing presence, and a 
noble voice, hearty and 
vigorous, like all the old 
school of actors* When 
he came across the room 
to greet me, and to 
shake my hand, with a 
strong grip of good 
fellowship, I could not 
help recalling the style 
and the manner of John 
Ryder He had just 
the same boisterous, 
breezy manner, the same 
assertive presence, the 
same stentorian lungs. 

Actors proverbially 
love to talk "shop," 
and those whose living 
is thrown in with actors 
inherit the same pecu- 
liarity. I must own it 
was a treat to me, 
after the long severance 
from the footlights, to 
plunge into the kind of 
conversation that was 
going on at that moment 
thousands of miles away 
at the Garrick, Savage, 
or Green Room Clubs at home. 

Here, on the wild, wind-tossed heights of 
Yokohama, in a semi-English cottage with 
Japanese surroundings, smoking a pipe over a 
glass of Scotch whisky, handed to me by a 
yellow-complexioned Asiatic, who wiped up 
the glasses at a rude bar, I was learning from 
this fine old man experiences of the old 
Macready and provincial stock company 
days, and fortifying from the fountain-head 
my recollections of old Sadler's Wells and 
Samuel Phelps, and Belford, and Fred 
Robinson, and Lewis Ball, and Miss Glyn, 
r»n<I Miss Atkinson, by one who had been 
their playmate; whilst the old actor v\iS in 
turn pumping me about Henry Irving and 
his splendid Shakespearean revivals, and the 
advantage or disadvantage, as the case might 
be, of the new school over the old. 

Of course, his recollections dated back far 

longer than mine- But we were 
able to compare notes, at any 
rate, over the Phelps period and 
the Charles Kean period of 
dramatic art, and I certainly from the lips of 
old Playfort got an insight into the history of 
the American stage of the last half-century, 
that strengthened the impressions that I had 
received from long conversations with actors 
like Edwin Uooth, Joseph Jefferson, Edward 
A. Sothern, and John Sleeper Clarke, who 
could all tell a story of the stage as well as 
they could act a part on it, 

How wonderful is the freemasonry of the 
stage even amongst amateurs ! Directly 1 
landed at Hong Kong, before my arrival in 
Japan, I received a note from one of the 
kading and most popular merchants in 
the English colony, an amateur actor of con- 
siderable renown, imploring me to come up 
any evening to dinner at his lovely villa on 
the green hill overlooking Hong Kong har- 
bour, in ctf^5Jfft|ohat u * tn mm about okl 

limc lJStV&lTTOPWlcffl^ him a " that 


10 5 

had happened in theatrical London since 
he left it for inevitable banishment in un- 
theatrical China, The amateur as well as 
the professional actor is fond of a bit of 
stage shop, and is never so happy as when 
ho is comparing notes with one whose 
dramatic experiences cover his own exact 
period of play-going. And so, in the 
somewhat squalid smoke -parlour of the 
tumble-down " Shakespeare Inn,' 1 in the 
seaport of Japan, old Playfort and I fell 
to talking about the past and the present 
of the English 

He had much to 
tell meof Macready, 
and Phelps, and 
Charles Kean, and 
the old stock com- 
pany days in the 
time of Knowles 
of Manchester and 
Harris of Dublin : 
he regaled me with 
plenty of good 
stories, which, 
strange to say, I 
had never heard 
before, for thea- 
trical stories are 
apt to circulate, as 
we all know ; whilst 
from me, the fine 
old gentleman had 
to learn all about 
the Henry Irving 
era of dramatic art, 
the notable Ban- 
croft accession and 
too early retirement, 
and the promise 
of what is now 
known as the "new 
school," headed by 
such men as John 
Hare, George Alex- 
ander, and Beer- 
bohm Tree. 

It was a curious 
scene: the untidy Japanese women and 
black-eyed Japanese boys bustling about 
the inn bar, and so far as they were con- 
cerned we might have been talking double 
Dutch, or Chinese, and here to their astonish- 
ment were an old actor and a middle-aged 
critic talking away "sixteen to the dozen" 
about English dramatic nrt in far-distant 

I could not help noticing that the old man 

was nervously anxious to get me alone in 
order to discuss some private matter that 
seemed to agitate him. He knew that my 
visit to Yokohama was necessarily a short 
one, as I was bound to be in Chicago for 
the opening of the exhibition, and he also 
knew, which seemed to be a far more impor- 
tant matter to him, that I was going home 
to England, that in a few weeks' time* if all 
were well, I should be in London again, 
the England from which the old actor 
had so mysteriously disappeared or drifted. 

the London where 
I guessed all 
that could ever 
have been near or 
dear to him were 
living, still uncon- 
scious, doubtless, 
of his very existence 
after these long 
years of separation. 
But all eonversa- 
tion, save on 
general subjects, 
was impossible that 
day. My old school- 
fellow was with me, 
and the public 
room was full of 
visitors and stran- 
gers, who had 
strolled in for a 

But before I left 
he called me aside 
and said, in a mys- 
terious stage 
whisper :— 

" Promise me 
on your faithful 
word of honour 
that you will come 
up and see me alone 
before you sail away 
from Japan. But 
you must come 
alone, I have 
something very im- 
portant to tell you, something that weighs 
heavily on my mind, something that you 
must know," 

I ] promised There was a mystery about 
the place and the old man that I could not 
at the moment fathom. It was a mhiage 
such as I had never seen before, although I 
had been introduced to St mi- English and 
semiJapan(?s5(fj^ifKp(eholds that were curious 





My school-fellow on our way home helped 
to enlighten me. Old Play fort had done 
what so mo ay Englishmen had done and 
regretted afterwards in Japan, Possibly fur 
a little bit of money, probably for mere com- 
panionship, he had gone through a certain 
form of marriage with a native woman, She 
it was who presided over his dingy and un- 
cleanly household. She it was who passed as 
his wife. The children, half Jap and half 
European j were hers. 

It was the old story: the alliance, such as it 
was, had been, so far as I could see, a 
complete failure, I Hiring my short resi- 
dence in Japan I saw plenty of such 
unions, but not one in which anything 
like married happiness existed. There can 
be no true union, no marriage in its highest 
and most beautiful sense, between a European 
and one of a race so peculiar and distinct 
from ours as the Japanese race is to-day. 

Cultivated they may be, clever and accom- 
plished they certainly are, affectionate and 
home-loving they have proved themselves to 
be ; but their lives, their manners, and their 
customs are so distinct from ours, that in the 
end satiety breeds not joy and 
peace, but sorrow and tribulation. 

It is not marriage at all, hut 
exalted concubinage. English- 
men such as these honestly and 
honourably mean to do the 
correct thing by the woman 
they have bought or loaned 
from her parents, who are only 
too ready to pocket the money, 
a woman who is, Tio doubt, for 
a time sincerely attached to him 
so far as her life and instincts 
will allow her. But it is not 
marriage ! The man is always 
ashamed of his so-called wife, 
and not particularly proud of his 
children. He cannot introduce 
her to the society even of his 
intimate friends. She is, after 
all, only a superior kind of 
servant. There is no real equality 
lietween them. No woman in 
the East, wife, or no wife, is held 
in such respect, or treated with 
such chivalry and loyalty, as 
European women are treated, 
and the bondslave feeling is only 
aggravated when the woman is 
an Asiatic and the man of 
European origin. The "new 
woman '' should take this 
portant fact to heart, 

Here, then, there was only one more 
instance of the fatal folly of these attach- 
ments that begin in sheer recklessness or 
carelessness, but are tied together by a legal 
bond. Any religion in the matter is out of 
the question, for Christians and heathens 
can no more mix in any exalted or soulfeel- 
ing than can oil and water. 

Three distinct cases of mixed European 
and Japanese unions came under my imme- 
diate notice. In not one of them was there 
any real happiness. Quite the contrary ! 

Again and again I went up to the (i Shake- 
speare Inn" to see the "grand old man," 
but always, unfortunately, in mixed company. 
Everybody liked him, from the highest to the 
lowest, and the European ladies of the colony 
were accustomed, with their husbands and 
brothers, to visit the old actor in his *'best 
parlour, ?> and to listen to his stories and 
cheery conversation. 

On the last day before my ship sailed from 
Yokohama to San Francisco, true to my 
promise, I called a swift "jinricksha ;? and 
bowled away to the u Shakespeare Inn." The 
old gentleman was overjoyed to see me, and 


4 Original from 



escorted me to the best parlour, where we 
could be alone and undisturbed. And there 
and then he told me the story of his curious 
vagabond and wandering life: 

First of all he told me his real name, or 
rather quickly identified it with an English 
actress who is held in universal respect — an 
old lady now, but one who has pursued her 
honourable and blameless career in I^ondon 
for over five-and-thirty years. 

And with tears streaming down his old 
grey cheeks, he told me how devoted he still 
was and ever had been to as good a wife as 
man ever possessed, and the intense love he 
felt for the daughter whom he had scarcely 
set eyes on from infancy, a lovely woman 
now, happily married with children of her 
own — grandchildren that the old man was 
never likely to see on this earth. 

It was a sad story of man's weakness and 
unfaithfulness. Husband and wife had acted 
together in England, they had toured together 
in America, and, full of love and hope, they 
had parted — years and years ago — at Boston, 
where he saw her off to England, for she had 
accepted an important and lucrative profes- 
sional engagement in the old country. From 
that moment they drifted apart ! From that 
hour he had never set eyes upon his faithful 
and devoted wife. It was a painful story, but 
he did not flinch in the recital of it. He did 
not spare himself or excuse himself, but 
went through it all as if he were in torture 
or on the rack. In this case also confession 
seemed good for the soul. 

He had drifted ! 

He drifted into American stock companies, 
drifted into strange society, drifted no doubt 
into careless ways. The wife was steadily 
working away at home: he knew where to find 
her, he knew what a comfort some tidings of 
the derelict would be to her. But gradually 
he forgot to write home. He had omitted to 
write for so many months, soon so many years, 
that he became ashamed to do so. 

And then the iron entered into his soul, 
and he crowned unpardonable neglect with 
the recklessness of despair. He determined 
to die to the world. He would lose him- 
self, become another being, lead a new life, 
try to forget a past that no doubt haunted and 
tortured him. The old vagabond spirit took 
firm possession of him. He bought an old 
caravan and a horse, and tramped gipsy- 
fashion from one sea -board of America to 
the other, stopping at miners' camps and 
ranches to give recitations and Shakespeare 
readings. He cooked for himself, tended 
himself, lived for himself, thought for himself. 

This American Robinson Crusoe had no 
Man Friday. He was alone, doomed to be 

Ever and ever he turned farther and 
farther away from home. He did not dare 
look back. He must pass on and on. 
So as the years went by he found himself 
in the days of gold and prosperity at San 

Home, wife, child, friends : well, all far 
away in the dull, half-forgotten background. 

And so, as the years rolled onward, still 
frightened to turn back, to set sail once more 
from America, but not, alas ! to seek forgive- 
ness in England, but to bury himself still 
deeper in the dark grave of forgetfulness in 
far-distant Japan. 

Here he arrived strong, well, and hearty ; 
here he tried readings and recitations, here 
he helped the English amateurs with their 
private theatricals, here he became a 
character and a Boniface, here, unhappily, he 
plunged into new domestic turmoils, and 
involved himself with fresh liabilities and 
responsibilities, and here I found him at the 
" Shakespeare Inn " at Yokohama, an exile 
from home after some thirty years' absence 
from the " dear white cliffs of Dover." He 
concluded this sad story with the following 
words as he took my hand, the tears still 
streaming down his handsome old face : — 

" You are going back to great old England, 
my friend, but I shall never see it any more. 
As I have made my bed so I must lie on 
it My journey is almost done — I am, as 
you see, a very old man. Here I shall die 
ere long, and here they will bury me when I 
am gone : away from home, from wife, from 
child ; alone amongst strangers, forgotten, as 
I well deserve to be ! " 

I tried to comfort him, to assure him that 
I could find the money to bring him back if 
he still longed for the dear old country. 

I suggested how merciful, how loving, how 
tender, and how forgiving good women are ; 
and prophesied a reconciliation with his 
neglected wife, and a last home in some 
familiar English churchyard. Let him turn 
his back on the heathens and come home to 

But he was not to be moved from his reso- 

" Dear friend, I shall never go home, nor 
do I deserve it ; I am an outlaw, an exile, an 
old derelict, still tossing on the troubled sea 
of life. But I shall go under, and get in no 
one's way at last." And then he cafne closer 
and whispered, " But you must see her, my 
dear old wife, when you ftet back to England. 




You must tell her from me that I love her 
still You must impress upon her that I am 
full of repentance for the evil that I have 
done. You must assure her from me that 
at the hour of death, which cannot be 
much longer now, my last prayer, my last 
thought on earth will be for her— for her— 
my wife !— my wife! — my only, only wife! 
And now, good-bye ! and may (led bless you, 
and take you safely home ! TT 

He was much affected, but he tottered to 
the garden -gate, still clinging affectionately to 
my hand. 

" Remember, dear friend, this hand-clasp 
will be for her. Farewell ! farewell ! " 

The sun was setting as I went down the 
hill, and it seemed to pour a golden benedic- 
tion on the silver hairs of the old man as he 
stood waving a last good-bye from the shadow 
of the trees. 

Hut when I turned round for the last time 
his venerable head was bowed upon his 
clasped hands. He was weeping and praying 
for the woman he had injured --the woman 
whose face he would never sec again on earth. 
And thus my promise is fulfilled. 

by Google 

Original from 

Oxford at Home. 

By Harold George. 

t?31I-L their life was spent not 
in laws, statutes, or rules, 
I nit according to their own 
free will and pleasure/* wrote 
Rabelais of the Th el e mites. 
If three exceptions be al- 
lowed, the modern Oxford undergraduate 
will be able to draw a fairly close parallel 
between his Alma Mater and Gargantua's 
great foundation* Leave out examinations, 
i)ons, and a certain paucity of feminine 
society, then " Fay ce que vouldras " is his 
not inappropriate motto. 

Our pious benefactors called the University 
into being for the promotion of what in these 
latter days we term " Higher Education." A 
generous-minded nineteenth century has per- 
mitted athletics to go hand in hand with 
scholarship- Both these sides of University 
life have often been discussed, but there exists 
another aspect of Oxford which in compari- 
son is virgin soil: I mean the relation of 
the undergraduate to matters social. 

Now, man is by nature a gregarious animal. 
Civilization develops this 
tendency by means of clubs 
and societies ; and, since 
it is pretty generally known 
that the Universe has been 
civil teed by Oxford, 1 need 
scarcely mention that social 
organizations have sprung up 
there in shoals. The '"Union" 
is not the beginning and end 
ot our club life, as some out- 
siders would have the world 
believe ; in the present day 
that body has no rahoti d'etre 
except for purposes of debate. 
" Vincent's "— - the meeting- 
place of Blues— and the 
-i Grid," both close corpora- 
tions, though nominally open 
to the whole University, are 
conducted after the manner 
of the ordinary social club. 
Some of the colleges possess 
liliputian establishments of 
the same type— very select 
these ; while dining clubs, 
wine clubs, political clubs, 

musical clubs, essay societies, 

debating societies, theological societies, are to 
be discovered in every corner both of Univer- 
sity and college, I say nothing of athletic 
institutions — such matters are beyond my 
present scope ; and, moreover, from what 
has already been said, it will be seen that 
the organized channels of social intercourse 
? twixt man and man at Oxford are not 

Of course, the Freshman does not jump 
into this all at once. His first experiences 
of social life are of a somewhat formal nature. 
He receives calls and returns them. Next 
come invitations to all sorts of things. At 
most of the colleges it is the custom of the 
Head to invite all his Freshmen to some 
meal. Such an invitation— like that of Caesar 
Borgia— is virtually a command. So on the 
appointed day the guest goes, and returns, 
thankful to find that the entertainment was 
deadly only in its slowness. 

The first meal is generally a breakfast ; but 
as one advances in terms, and perchance finds 
favour with the college authorities, the pro- 
motion to lunch or even 
dinner is reached — happy 
indeed is that undergraduate 
who sips his nectar at the 
table of his Head ! In days 
gone by the Head of a certain 
college made a point of invit- 
ing all his Freshmen to 
dinner. In the old orthodox 
style he would take wine 
with each guest. This was 
charmingly polite of the great 
man, though somewhat em- 
barrassing to the shy fledg- 
lings straight from school. 
Indeed, it was most unfor- 
tunate that for his health's 
sake the host affected a pe- 
culiar medicated wine, un- 
pleasant to the ordinary 
palate, and allowed no other 
beverage in which his visitors 
might drink their part of the 

Another anecdote of 
14 Dondom/* for Oxford de- 
lights in such. A ^ Fellow 
and Tutor' 7 had during the 





vacation taken unto himself a wife. Early 
in the term he chanced to give one of his 
rightly famous breakfast parties. The morn- 
ing was bright, and in marked contrast to 
the long spell of rain which had preceded 
it. Hard up for conversation, the host fell 
back on the ordinary English topic. 

" Is it not charming that we've got a little 
sun this morning ? " 

The reply from his right-hand neighbour 
was unexpected, possibly mal-apropos. 

The undergraduate rose in his place, and 
stretching out a hand, exclaimed effusively: — 

" My dear sir, allow me to congratulate 
you. I hope Mrs. is doing well." 

As a little piece of candid confession on 
the part of another college Head, perhaps 
the following is worthy of record. Upon the 
occasion of his entertaining some under- 
graduates to breakfast, the conversation grew 
more exciting than usual, for somehow or 
other the subject of temperance at the 
University had cropped up. In this sort did 
the great man deliver himself thereon : 
"For my part, I fancy that every under- 
graduate at Oxford becomes intoxicated upon 
some one occasion in the course of his 
career. In my own case I recollect that one 
evening several of us grew very convivial, 
and, what with drinking a little of this, and a 
little of that, I am bound to confess that in 
the end I could not stand straight, and had 
to be carried to bed." 

Perhaps the learned gentleman exaggerated 
in laying down a rule so very stringently, but 
readers will agree when I suggest how venial 
it is to slightly exceed the limits of discretion 
just for once at a merry gathering. We 
do not take too much wine as a matter cf 

But let me now introduce the reader to a 
so-called " Wine." The time is about half-past 
eight in the evening; the scene, a man's rooms, 
in which is set out an elaborate dessert, with 
decanters containing appropriate liquids. 
Boxes of cigars and cigarettes help to adorn the 
tables. A piano stands open in a prominent 
position ; lamps and candles illuminate the 
scene. When the guests have all arrived, 
the company numbers some five-and-twenty. 
A modicum of fruit is quickly disposed of, 
and as the cigar-boxes empty, a dense fog 
arises. For a time there is a perfect Babel : 
everybody talks at the same time ; and then 
the host remarks " Order, order ! " so that he 

may announce that Mr. will sing " The 

Man that Broke the Bank." The song is 
a success because of the chorus, which is 
roared out in stentorian tones regardless of 
time or key. Next, " the 'ossiest man afoot," 
who possesses a mild, harmless voice, essays 
a hunting song, which once more is saved by 
a swinging chorus. The banjoist and the 
reciter are both present and perform. Nor 
is the topical song absent, for a writer and 
composer is there, and himself sings of his 

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Original from 


i ri 

trials with " Those Troublesome Dons," the 
refrain running after this style : — 

And I may as well acknowledge 
There exists a certain tension 

Twixt some members of the college— 
Whose names I need not mention — 

And myself: for it's the old refrain, 

" Ploughed ! ploughed ! ploughed again ! " 
And so the entertainment goes on until the 
festive assembly disperses. Not so very 
wicked after all, was it ? 

Still I dare not venture to show another 
scene, in which pasteboard holds the chief 
position ; suffice it to say that " Nap " and 
41 Loo," "Bank" and "Poker," are not un- 
known in the home of 
learning. Nor need the 
undergradurte go so 
far afield as the Riviera 
to be initiated into the 
game, abhorred by 
Deans and Proctors, 
called " Roulette." How- 
ever, these sports of 
varied chance and skill 
have spent their attrac- 
tions for many after the 
first year. There is a 
certain man still "up," 
who, as a "Fresher," 
went the whole " hog " 
in these wicked pursuits. 
Now he is a reformed 
character ; one of those 
intellectual people be- 
loved of Dons, clever 
without a doubt. If 
you wish to offend, re- 
mind him of the fri- 
volities of his first year ! 
As it is, he will pro- 
bably get a " First " in 
the schools and settle 
down into the staid, sober Fellow of a college. 
I spoke of Proctors a moment ago, and am 
thereby reminded of a little episode connec- 
ted with one of those University "policemen." 
It was on the occasion of some Home Rule 
meeting somewhere in the city — with one of 
the Irish leaders for chief speaker — that an 
ardent Unionist, from the windows of his 
lodgings, endeavoured to raise a counter 
demonstration. The " Undergrad " suc- 
ceeded in attracting a small knot of curious 
spectators, and then began : " Men of 
Oxford ! In your thousands are you assem- 
bled-" — but his eloquence was rudely inter- 
rupted by the myrmidons of the law, and 
n-jxt morning the incident was valued by the 
Proctor at £2 sterling. 


To assist at a " Bump Supper" is not the lot 
of every undergraduate, but if you would see 
a whole college in a state of wild excite- 
ment, choose such an occasion. One of the 
college boats has pre-eminently distinguished 
itself in the "Eights," or "Torpids"; the 
victory must be fitly celebrated, and, the 
Dons being propitious, a supper is held 
in Hall after the conclusion of the races. 
The feast consists chiefly of champagne, 
speeches, and smoke. The Head, if he be 
a sportsman, will preside ; if not, some other 
Fellow. But the proceedings in Hall by no 
means comprise the entire function. About 
twelve o'clock an ad- 
journment is made to 
one of the quads, where 
a huge pile of coal, 
timber, and fagots has 
been erected. At this 
time the wary man 
changes his dress suit 
for the oldest garments 
he can find. Amid 
great cheering the bon- 
fire is lighted, fireworks 
are produced from all 
kinds of hiding-places, 
and ignited regardless 
of life, limb, or property. 
In some mysterious way 
you find a Roman 
candle in your hand, 
approach the fire, light 
the torch tenderly, and, 
when it is fairly ablaze, 
hurl it, for choice, at a 
group of men ; they 
scatter, yet no one is 
hurt. Truly the narrow 
escapes are many and 
At one of these festivals a college servant, 
quite non compos, was intrusted for a few 
moments with certain fireworks. Without a 
thought he dropped a cracker into the 
chimney of a lighted paraffin lamp. Naturally, 
the glass was blown to atoms; but the 
experimentalist, in no way disconcerted, 
proceeded to lay another cracker across the 
flame, and caused several explosions before 
his hand was stayed. Strangely enough, he 
had not even set fire to the room. 

Another droll sight was afforded by a big 
man apostrophizing the stars to his utmost 
satisfaction ; this one had discarded the dress 
suit for a rowing attire, and his bare legs were 
a great feature. So, at all events, thought a 
mild little u Plfflfi al im8iP the influence of 



O* t* £ 




champagne. Softly the little one lit a squib, 
stole behind his bulky compatriot, and 
applied the fire to his calf. 

It is very seldom that any unpleasantness 
occurs between Don and undergraduate 
upon these occasions. Yet it is not entirely 
unknown. At one " Bump Supper " enthusiasm 
passed all reasonable limits even while the 
supper proper was in progress. Several pieces 
of glass and china were ruined irrevocably, 
two or three chairs and tables were smashed. 
The college authorities felt bound to take 
official cognizance of the matter, and sum- 
moned the suspected delinquents to a meet- 
ing of the " Head " and Fellows next day. 
One of the suspects denied all knowledge of 
the affair ; " he had left the Hall before any 
riotous proceedings took place." The Head 
was not satisfied with the explanation, and 
proceeded to cross-examine : — 

" But, Mr. , at what time did you go 

out of Hall?" 

" I regret I am unable to state the exact 
moment by the clock." 

"Can you not give us any approximate 
idea of the time ? " 

" No ; I can only say I was not there when 
this happened." 

"Well, even some incident that world give 
us a notion of the hour you left ? " 

" Then, if you must know, I went out just 
as your health was being proposed." 

Events of this sort, 
exciting while they last, 
are none of them the 
beau ideal of the under- 
graduate. Walter Vivian 
was perfectly right when 

Swore he long'cl at college, 
only long'd, 

All else was well, for she- 
society ! 

We are nothing if 
not sentimental, and 
since it is given but to 
few to be on intimate 
terms with residents at 
Oxford, or with the fair 
denizens of Somerville 
and Lady Margaret — 
(the latter place has, by 
the irreverent, been 
called the "Tricolour," 
the building being half 
white and half red ; verb, 
sap.) — we hail with glee 
the advent of the 
"Eights" and " Com- 

munis." The reason we delight so much in 
these festivals is that here we meet those 
charming beings — " somebody else's sisters ! " 
The " Eights " week— it happens towards 
the end of May — brings the first invasion of 
the gentler sex. Breakfasts, lunches, dinners, 
afternoon teas are given in their honour. 
Just for the sake of the thing, they are 
shown the races, which last for a few minutes, 
twice every afternoon. Two in a Canadian 
canoe on the well-shaded Cher is far more 
interesting than watching a procession of 
boats in the blazing sun. 

Far preferable to the " Eights " is 
Commemoration. The standing order about 
being " in " by twelve is then suspended. 
Schools are dead and done with ; the 
immediate future holds only the "Long 
Vac." And this is how we spend our time, in 
order that for a few days each June we may 
properly bear in mind the benefits conferred 
upon us by pious benefactors of old. 

On Saturday the arrivals take place : 
strange faces begin to haunt the " High " ; 
but as yet we have not the chance of gauging 
the charms of the daughters or the dis- 
positions of the chaperons. Sunday — once 
" Show Sunday," before the Broad Walk and 
the Meadows- were thrown open to Dick, 
Tom, and Harry — can scarcely now be 
day; it is Monday that 
The morning is employed 
in showing the " lions," 
the afternoon is taken 
up partly perhaps by a 
concert at the "Shel- 
donian," and most cer- 
tainly by numerous tea 
parties ; but the evening 
eclipses these little 
things, for then comes 
the first ball. 

Comm e moration 
J dances at Oxford are 

• themselves all alike in 

method, but there are 
1 none like them elsewhere 

• in the world. Nobody 

goes as a duty; every- 
body is intent on enjoy- 
ment. The invitations 
mention 9.30 as the 
opening hour, but the 
dance seldom begins 
before ten o'clock. For 
the occasion, the college 
— if it is a college 
ball — has been trans- 
formed. In the Hall a 

counted a festival 
sees the fete begin. 





spring floor has been laid over the ordinary 
hard oak boards. Some colleges, indeed, go 
so far as to build a huge temporary room in 
one of the quads for dancing, but the Hall 
is the usual place. Supper is laid in a special 
marquee ; the whole of the college is available 
for sitting out ; the gardens are lit up by fairy 
lamps and lanterns; many luxurious chairs 
are scattered about, two by two, in sequestered 
nooks ; in fact, nothing is easier than for two 
people to get lost at an Oxford dance if they 
so please. The committee and stewards 
wear sashes of the college colours. The 
music is invariably drawn from a crack 
military band, such as the Marine Light 
Infantry, the Coldstreams, or the Royal 
Artillery. Everything, indeed, is as near 
perfection as possible so far as prepara- 
tions go, and, better still, the results 
generally coincide with the arrangements. 
Day has dawned before anyone dreams of 
going home, and it is half-past four before 
our fair partners are all gone. But the men 
are still left behind ; they return to the 
supper room, and now the hungry ones may 
eat without fear of detaining a partner. 
Healths are proposed and drunk : the health 
of the committee and secretary ; the health 
of the band — for they are usually present 
now ; the health of any Don who is there ; 
and so forth. The toasts are responded to, 
but speeches are brief at such an hour. 
Next the word goes round that the photo- 
graphers have come. All stand up, and arms 
are linked for u Auld Lang Syne." Then 
they go out, group themselves under the 
direction of the " artist," and in dress clothes 
have their pictures taken, between five and 
six on a summer morning. 

The photograph is the last act of the ball, 
although many have not yet finished their 
exertions. A sunny morning suggests a 
bathe, so off we go to our lodgings, to put 
on flannels ; then to " Parson's Pleasure," 
where we swim away to our hearts' content. 
At the conclusion of one such dance I 
agreed with two others to go and " have a 
dip." We were to return home, discard the 
dress suit for flannels, and meet again. I 
carried out my part of the bargain, but the 
other twain never arrived. When next I 
saw them I discovered that they reached my 
abode some time after I had started for the 
river. They had no knowledge of the where- 
abouts of my room, but that seemed of small 
consequence. They went upstairs and, open- 
ing a door at haphazard, came upon an old 
lady in bed, who squealed. Thereupon the 
invaders retreated; but, on reaching the 

Dioilized bv viOUyiL 

• i>ttff&Q> - 

street, ** occurred to one that they had never 
apologized for their stupid mistake. Back 
they went, once more opened the door, and 
solemnly begged the old lady's pardon for 
their former intrusion. 

The remaining three nights of Commemo- 
ration are spent in the way that I have 
described. There are one or two balls at the 
Corn Exchange, but a dance there is scarcely 
comparable to one in college. Tuesday is, 
par excellence, the day for picnics. Steam 
launches to Nuneham ; lunch on board ; 
getting lost in somebody's company in the 
woods ; home again in time to dress for the 

Wednesday, of course, is the day of the 
" Encaenia," or formal ceremony of com- 
memorating the founders and benefactors. 
There may be a flower show in the afternoon ; 
the evening is like the others. Thursday 
sees the last of the gaieties, and Friday is 
devoted to sorrowful leave-takings. The 
" Vac " has commenced. 

Now, Oxford being made for the under- 
graduate, in our absence the city is as the 
Dead Sea. Nought will live in it, and there 
is nothing to be caught. In term time, since 
the place swarms with our species, it would 




seem as though the society of Oxford 
in general were largely dependent thereon. 
Yet the party-going undergraduates form a 
very small part of the whole number, and, 
owing to the demand for them, these social 
members are in great request. It is even 
possible for a man to gain a bubble reputa- 
tion for his social qualities. When the boy 
arrives, fresh from school, ipso facto he be- 
comes a man. He feels himself his own 
master to such an unaccustomed extent that 
he rejoices in doing that which he ought not 
to do, and in escaping from the trammels of 
ordinary society. Therefore he is content 
to herd swine with other undergraduates : 
there is so much to be done that is entirely 
new, and he hastens to attempt it all at once. 
So for awhile the foolish boy thinks it a 
waste of time to indulge in afternoon tea and 
ladies' society. 

His first experience of the latter is 
probably at the feast of some married Don. 
If the lady of the house be not patronizing, 
the Freshman is soon at his ease. He can 
talk his own " shop " and air his latest ideas 
without being snubbed. He can even be 
appreciated for his modern notions. But, 
alas ! in some instances the better half is 
worse than her husband. This was well 
exemplified very recently. The wife scorned 
the ordinary undergraduate. She would 
allow him to swallow an uncomfortable 
breakfast, and directly the meal 
would say, "But, Mr. 
So-and-so, we really must 
not keep you : you are : 

sure to have a lecture to 
attend." A tactless and 
rude hint of this sort is 
completely out of place, 
especially when the guests 
are fairly certain to make 
themselves very scarce 
upon the earliest oppor- 

The wives of some 
Dons are, quite uncon- 
sciously, possessed of 
some humour. There 
was one such lady who 
greatly prided herself 
upon a knowledge of the 
athletic distinctions of 
individual men in the 
college with which her 
husband was connected. 
She invited a number of 
undergraduates to dine, 
and the place of honour 

Digitized by 

was over 


at her right hand fell to the " 'Varsity stroke." 
To him the hostess turned, and, by way of 
starting a conversation, inquired, " Do you 

row, Mr. ? " 

Should the Don to whose feast the under- 
graduate is bidden be unmarried, the intel- 
lectual fare will not improbably consist of the 
host's prosy reminiscences of old school 
days and old 'Varsity life. This, though 
uninteresting, would be tolerable did it go 
no farther. But a senior member of the 
University is given to posing, all uncon- 
sciously, as a laudator temporis act/, and 
his recollections may be supplemented by 
invidious comparisons between past and 
present — much to the detriment of the latter. 
Or, perchance, the older man abhors the 
sight of a petticoat, just as did the Head of 
one college. Of him it is related that, 
expressing a certain approval of the practice 
of public speakers rehearsing in private to 
a friend or two, he wound up by saying : 
" And should I ever enter into the bonds of 
matrimony — though I trust no such misfortune 
may befall me — I conceive a wife might be 
useful in that capacity." 

When fortune throws the Oxford residents 
(as distinct from Dons) across our under- 
graduate path, they are really kind to us. 
They ask us to all sorts of nice things : tea 
parties, picnics, dinners, at times even dances. 
The resident ladies, perhaps because of 
their greater age, deem themselves very 
superior to their youth- 
ful guests, and will not 
allow them to enjoy 
themselves in their own 
way. They give the 
undergraduate no chance 
of looking after himself, 
but take for granted a 
want of savoir /aire on 
his part Therefore, when 
the hostesses think to 
amuse, they often bore. 
After dinner, for instance, 
they inveigle us into play- 
ing harmless but un- 
necessary games; cards 
perhaps, in the mildest 
form, and puzzles of all 
kinds ; or it may be 
u hunt the thimble"— 
what man ever shone at 
" hunt the thimble " ?— 
or that milk and water 
" pitch-and-toss," which 
consists in throwing cards 

ihalfflfof ,hat 



The undergraduates are not Expected to 
do much in return for all this hospitality. 
They have a few rather formal tea parties to 
attend, and are expected to drop the requi- 
site amount of pasteboard. But at Oxford 
there is always something better to do than 
walk half a mile and drink tepid tea for 
half an hour. Therefore, we are detestably 
ungracious over this slight recognition of 
other people's efforts on our behalf. We are 
conscious of this, and of late some enter- 
prising spirits have been wiping off their 
deficit of " calls " in a novel manner. They 
requite hospitality by giving miniature dances, 
to which they invite those who have enter- 
tained them, and thus do the right thing well, 
once and for all. Yet dances in Oxford, 
whether given by residents or undergraduates, 
are a rarity, and men who dance reserve 
their best energies for Commemoration. 

Should the junior man stay up in vaca- 
tion, he may have a really pleasant time 
all round. For once he finds himself 
treated as a gentleman, and discovers that 
the most severe Don can so conduct himself 
if he chooses. The younger Fellows, married 
or single, are very charming in ordinary life 
out of term time, when there is a lull in 
their crusade against the vile undergraduate. 
But although, as he grows old in terms and 
nears the end of his tether, the undergraduate 

may tardily recognise a certain reason for the 
existence of Dons, yet as pastors and masters 
these are at the most allowed the title of 
" fellow creatures." It is very hard to pierce 
the robur et aes trip/ex of pedantry and high 
living. I myself, favoured undergraduate, 
have dined with Dons, and vividly recall how 
kindly one of them tried to put me at my 
ease. He commenced by talking of that 
" wretched animal," " the pass schools man"; 
which happy phrase he supplemented by say- 
ing that almost all undergraduates, fresh from 
a public school, were either " utterly immoral" 
or else were " prigs." I was just fresh from a 
public school, but I forgave him. He him- 
self had never graced such an institution with 
his presence. Was it with such a person in 
his mind that the undergraduate first supple- 
mented the New College motto, "Manners 
makyth Man,'* by the addition " the want of 
them the Fellow " ? 

I have sketched several types of Dons, but 
w f ould not have my readers think there are no 
exceptions. No one can appreciate kindli- 
ness and courtesy more than the Oxford 
undergraduate ; no one can return it better. 
The spot that is his home for three or four 
years he worships with an intense affection, 
and we all know how disconsolately he 
realizes the approach of his final departure 
from the great Alma Mater. 

by Google 


A Chess Story. 
By H. Russell Preston, 

O you mean to say, doctor, 
that you have introduced 
chess amongst your 
patients ? 1J 

14 Yes, Why not ? Some 
of these poor creatures, al- 
though they suffer from various forms of 
madness, are able at times to exercise certain 
faculties of mind with a brilliancy that is 
really remarkable. " ? 

" But surely they are not capable of play- 
ing a rational and sustained game ? " 

** Oh, yes ! I have myself been beaten by 
a mad patient. Of course, at times, their play 
is whimsical and erratic ; but even then, if I 
may s:iy so, there is often a good deal of 
method in their madness. It is rather curious 
that, at the present time, I have under un- 
charge a poor fellow whose mental derange- 
ment is almost entirely the result of excessive 
chess-playing. He indulged in his favourite 
pastime to such an extent that it ultimately 
affected his mind. We do not now allow 
him even the sight of a chessboard, because 
anything to do with the game seems to rouse 
in him the worst form of his madness, Some- 
times he will sit for hours playing with an 
imaginary opponent, and whenever he has 
these fits he always ends by exclaiming, 
1 Mate in six moves ! ' He then deliberately 


counts the six moves aloud, and when in his 
disordered imagination he has made the final 
move he becomes very violent, and is then 
dangerous to himself and other people. He 
was a remarkably brilliant blindfold player, but 
whether he actually retains the power of 
mentally working out a game, I am unable 
to say," 

The speakers were myself and Dr. 
Chorley, the famous ''mad-doctor, 1 ' whose 
private asylum was generally recognised as 
one of the lx b st institutions of the kind in 
the country* I was staying a few days with 
the doctor, and we had Iveen spending the 
evening very pleasantly over a game or two 
of chess. VVe had finished our play, and the 
doctor was telling me a few things concerning 
his patients, in the course of which he 
narrated an anecdote about a game of chess 
played by two of the inmates of his 
asylum which led to the conversation above 

Shortly afterwards the doctor retired fur 
the night, leaving me alone to write a few 
letters which I was anxious to get off the first 
thing the next morning. For several minutes 
I went on smoking my cigar, turning over in 
my mind the idea of mad people playing 
chess, and then settled down to my letters. 

I had n§fj,4j)fr£p writing long when I heard 




the handle of the door turn, and someone 
came in. I looked up, expecting to see Dr. 
Chorley, hut to my surprise a complete 
stranger stood hefore me. "Oh 1" I thought, 
"one of the doctors assistants whom I have 
not happened to meet before/* but it certainly 
struck mi as rather strange that he should 
have entered my host's private study at a 
time when the rest of the household were in 
bed, for the doctor on bidding me good- 
night had told me I was the last up, 

I naturally waited a moment for my visitor 
to speak* expecting that he would apologize 
for the intrusion, or at any rate explain his 
presence. To my utter surprise, however, 
he stood perfectly motionless, fixed his eyes 
upon me, and remained silent. 

^ Whoever you are/ 1 I thought, l * you are a 
pretty cool customer/' and feeling annoyed 
at what seemed to me the fellow's insolence, 
I said, with some dignity, "I don't under- 
stand — — " 

** You play chess ? )J he interrupted, with- 

Voi. ir -19, 

■ fit r>i-:i.ruEKATi--.i.v T'ini: vv 1 

out apparently noticing that I had attempted 
to speak, and all the time keeping his eyes 
fixed upon me. 

This was certainly extraordinary, and as I 
looked at my strange visitor the truth all at 
once seemed to dawn upon me — the man 
was mad ! I am not naturally nervous, but I 
must confess to feeling something akin to 
fear when I realized that I was face to face 
with a man who for all 1 knew might be a 
dangerous lunatic. 

My worst anticipations were soon realized 
Without taking his eyes off me, he walked to 
the mantelpiece and deliberately took up the 
large revolver which the doctor always kept 
at hand in case of a surprise, and which I 
knew to be loaded. 

My unwelcome guest had certainly now 
the best of the position* What was I to do ? 
To make a bolt of it would be to offer 
myself a target to this homicidal madman ; to 
shout for help might equally be the signal 
for him to send a bullet through me ; and 
yet I would not stand still and be 
shot like a rat in a hole. "I must 
humour him," I thought, "and so gain 
time, as his absence must soon be 

My mind, however, was somewhat 
relieved when he repeated, in the same 
quiet tone of voice : — 
M You play chess ?" 
It was something, at any rate, to know 
that I was not to be instantly shot. 

' 4 Yes, ,! I replied, in my most winning 
manner " Would you like a game ? " 

Without speaking, he sat down in 
front of me, carefully placing the 
pistol on the table near to his 
right hand. 

When the pieces were arranged 
he looked at me with the most 
diabolical expression on his face 
and said : — 

" You, will play for your life. 
If I win, I shall shoot you on 
the spot ; if I lose, I shall kill 
myself," and he deliberately 
examined the revolver, as if to 
assure himself that it was 

The reader will imagine what 
my feelings were on hearing this 
ultimatum. Imagine sitting down 
to a chess-table at midnight with 
an armed lunatic who tells you 
in terrible earnest that he will 
murder you if he beats you. What 
a fiendish fnrfritt) ! Under ordi- 



nary circumstances I knew I was liable to 
make mistakes and lose a game against an 
inferior player, but it is difficult to describe 
what I ft'lt at being obliged to play; when a 
false move might cost me my life. A hundred 
thoughts flashed through my brain, Could 
my grim and terrible opponent really play an 
accurate game? If he could, should I be 
able to make a stand against him till some- 
one came to my rescue ? Even if I could beat 
him, what guarantee hid I that my Itfc would 
not still be in danger? And besides, I was 
morally bound to prevent if possible the man 
taking his own life, 

I looked up at him, His eyes were fixed 
on the board with a terrible stare, and there 
appeared to be no escape from the awful 
ordeal of being forced to stake my life on a 
game of chess. 

Without consulting me he selected the 
white pieces and moved first. He played 
what chess-players call an irregular opening, 
but there was nothing very remarkable or 
fantastic about it. I tried to keep cool, 
but as I lifted the pieces my hand trembled 
and my head felt on fire. 

I soon discovered that my opponent knew 
perfectly well what he was doing, and that 
whatever the particular form 
his madness might take, it did 
not prevent him from playing 
the game accurately and in 
earnest* He quickly forced 
an exchange of pieces to his 
own advantage, and secured 
a vigorous attack upon my 
king. "The position, no doubt, 
was a simple one to defend, 
hut my feelings had been 
wrought up to such a state of 
excitement that I seemed 
incapable of analyzing the 
most ordinary combina- 

Suddenly I was startled 
by my opponent almost 
hissing between his teeth, 
iL Mate in six moves ! " 

Good heavens ! This, 
then, was the man of 
whom my host had been 
talking, A cold shiver ran 
through me. Those terrible 
words, ik Mate in six moves/' sounded in my 
ears like a death-knell. "What did they 
mean ? " I asked myself. M I )id the demented 
wretch see his way clear to force a mate in six 
moves in spite of anything I could do? Or 
was he only uttering an expression he was 

digitized by (LiOOglC 

in the habit of using, which had no signi- 
ficance for the game we were engaged in ?" 

I tried to calm myself in order to examine 
the position on the board. So far as I could 
make out, it was impossible to force a 
mate in six moves, and beyond that my 
opponent had some advantage in the matttr 
of attack, our positions seemed to me about 

After uttering the ominous words, u Mate 
in six moves/' my opponent leaned back in 
his chair and indulged in a series of horrible 
chuckles which seemed to make my blood 
run cold. Then resuming his former 
attitude, he slowly lifted his queen, "One," 
he cried, as he brought the piece down with a 
bang which shook the table. By making 
this move he offered me a piece, which 1 
promptly took, thinking he had made a 
blunder which would give me the game. 

"Two, M said my opponent, without a 
moments hesitation, as he replaced one of 
my knights with his own, while I, thinking to 
be a piece to the good, accepted the exchange, 
and took the white knight off the board* 
The moment I had done so I realized that 
1 had fallen into a fatal trap. It was plain 
that I must be mated in tour moves, and 

; ttATfc IK MX MOVE9 ! 

without doubt this cunning madman had 
foreseen the mate six moves ahead 

"Three," he cried, the white queen giving 
cheek to my king. Great beads of perspira- 
tion now began to break out on my forehead. 
I had lostOfi^jg^ftoftipd unless someone 




cam^ to my rescue, I thought I should most 
assuredly be killed. 1 pretended to be 
studying the position, but my head was busy 
trying to concoct some scheme for my escape 
from this terrible dilemma. Seeing, however, 
that my opponent was getting excited, I 
moved my king to the only available square. 

14 Four — check ! ,J he almost shouted , as he 
moved his queen one square back. My 
position was now desperate. I could only 
prolong the game by interposing my rook, 
and as I reluctantly pushed the piece forward, 
I saw with horror my opponent pick up the 

iL Five — check !*' and away went my rook. 
My king had now only one move followed by 
mate, Never shall I forget what my feelings 
were at that moment, and now the time for 
action had come I felt powerless to move 
hand or foot. My head seemed to reel, and 
almost mechanically I made my last move, 

"Six — mate ! H he literally shrieked, and I 
saw him raise the revolver on a level with 
my head. Instinctively I closed my eyes, 
and the next instant there was a loud report, 
and I fell to the ground unconscious, 

41 How do you, feel now? You have 
certainly had a very narrow escape. 1 * 

I opened my eyes and saw l>r. Charley 
(sending over ine. 

li Is that you, doctor?" I murmured* 
"Am I really alive? I thought I was dead/' 

" You are not only alive, but uninjured," 
was the comforting reply ; and then my 
host told me that at the very moment the 
madman raised the revolver to fire at 
me, he had noiselessly entered the room 
and was just in time to knock the would-be 
assassin's arm in an upward direction, so 
that the weapon went off without doing any 
more harm than a little damage to the room. 
I had simply been overcome, and fallen 
down in a dead faint, owing to the mental 
strain I had undergone, My opponent had 
been immediately overpowered by the keepers, 
who were waiting in readiness. 

It seems that, after bidding me good-night, 
the doctor had had occasion to open the 
sliding- door arrangement, which when closed 
effectually shut off the house from the 
asylum. By some means my mad opponent 
had slipped through unobserved and made 
his way to the study, His absence h;d been 
discovered, and the doctor and his assistants 
had instituted a quiet and careful search, 
until at length, hearing a noise in the study, 
they made all haste there, and arrived just in 
time, as I believe, to save my life. 

When I said good-bye to the doctor next 
day, I made up my mind that it would be a 
long time before I paid him another visit, 
and to this day I never sit down to a 
game of chess without the terrible experience 
of that night being vividly recalled to my 

by Google 

Original from 




Bogey is an imaginary golfer who always 
plays the game as well as it ought to be 
played. He is the Demon of the Links, 
whom it is hard to beat Matches against 
Bogey are regularly played, Perhaps, 
in the imagination of different golfers, 
he takes many shapes. Here is the con- 
ception of Mr. W, A. Wickham, who has 

presented a large coloured picture to the 
Chiswkk Golf Club, from which the 
above is reproduced. The picture, i8in. 
by 2 2in. (about), is being reproduced in 
fourteen colours, suitable for framing, and 
may be obtained for 3s. 6d., post free 
is, od, from the .offices of The Strand 
MAc^iKEP r| 9 |nalfronn 


C^f\r%ct\i* Original from 


[Sw page 125.) 

by GoOgic 

Original from 

Stopping an Execution. 

By Victor L. Whitechurch, 

T the time of which I am 
writing I was living in seclusion 
in a small town about thirty- 
five miles north of London. 
I was engaged in rather a large 
literary undertaking ; in fact, I 
was writing a novel, I had engaged myself 
to get the work in question completed by a 
certain date, and in order to do so I found 
myself compelled to throw over all other 
occupation for the time being. I knew very 
few people in the town where I was living, 
and for five or six weeks had scarcely seen 
anyone to speak to. 

So engrossed was I with my task that I 
had no time to read even the newspaper, and 
was quite ignorant of what was going on in 
the world. The only relaxation I allowed 
myself was a good brisk walk into the country 
every afternoon. With this exception I had 
hardly stirred from my house, except to run 
up to London once or twice for the purpose 
of visiting the docks, and making certain 
technical investigations concerning them. 
This I did, as a good portion of the novel I 
was working at was about the life of dock- 
surroundings in the vicinity of Rotherhithe. 

It was a little after eight o'clock one even- 
ing in April, that I finished the second 
volume of my work. It was with great satis- 
faction that I wrote, and with a considerable 
flourish, too, the words : " End of Volume 
the Second/' I generally worked up till ten 
or eleven, but it was useless doing any more 
that night ; so I put on my hat and coat and 
started off for an evening stroll. I had no 
sooner stepped into the street, than a boy 
accosted me with a bundle of papers under 
his arm, and the request : " Buy an evening 
paper, sir ? " I bought one, put it in my 
pocket, and resumed my walk. 

It was a fine night, and I went some little 
distance, reaching home a little after half-past 
nine. My landlady had brought in my 
supper, and as my walk had given me an 
appetite, it was with no small pleasure that I 
viewed a goodly joint of cold beef awaiting 
my attack. I took off my boots and put on 
my slippers. Then I sat down and did 
ample justice to my cold repast. 

I had laid down the newspaper on the 
table when entering the room, intending to 
read it during supper, but my appetite had 
got the better of any craving for intelligence, 
so it was not till I had lit a pipe and subsided 
into a cosy arm-chair by the fire that I un- 
folded the sheet of printed matter. 

Vol. ix.--17. 

Now, reader, I daresay you know the sen- 
sation of reading a paper for the first time 
after having neglected doing so for some 
weeks. You don't rush at it at all ; in fact, 
you are very chary of beginning, because 
such thoughts come into your head as : "I 
don't expect I shall enjoy the 'leaders,' 
because / don't know what has led up to 
them." " Sure to be something about a big 
trial of wWch I haven't heard the beginning." 
" Forgotten entirely all about our foreign 
policy," " Let me see, is the same Ministry 
still in ? " 

Therefore I opened my paper leisurely — 
nay, lazily. I looked at the "leader." 
Something about a new "Greek Loan." 
That didn't interest me. I skipped through 
the little items of news and hurried jottings, 
and summaries peculiar to our evening papers. 
Presently my eye was caught with the follow- 
ing paragraph-heading : — 


There is a morbid fascination for most 
people in an execution, and so, yielding to 
this feeling, I proceeded to read the paragraph. 

" The murderer of the unfortunate James 
Renfrew will be hanged to-morrow morning 
at eight, o'clock. The wretched man, whose 
name— Charles Fenthurst — is now in every- 
body's mouth, still persists in his plea of 

Here I became deeply interested. The 
name of Fenthurst was most familiar to me. 
I had formed a deep friendship with a man 
of that name. He was a good fifteen years 
my senior, and had died about two years 
previously I knew he had a son named 
Charles, a young fellow, who had emigrated 
to South Africa early in life, and who was 
generally supposed to be working at the 
diamond mines. Could this be the same 
man ? I read on. 

" It will be remembered that at the trial 
the strongest circumstantial evidence was 
brought to bear upon Fenthurst. The mur- 
der took place in a house on the outskirts of 
the small town of Clinfold. It was proved 
that Fenthurst was in the habit of frequent- 
ing Renfrew's premises, and that apparently 
he was expected there on the evening in 
question. He was seen near the place soon 
after the crime was committed, and several 
other proofs, of a strongly condemnatory 
character, were also laid against him. He 
has persisted liom the fin:, however, in main- 



I bLCAMt DbtiULV INTtKEiim.' 

taining that he was absent from Clinfold at the 
very time the murder took place, This was 
about seven o'clock in the evening. At that 
hour, he says, he was returning from London, 
where he had been spending part of the day \ 
only one witness, he says, could prove this, and 
that is an individual who travelled with him 
as far as P -and entered into conversa- 
tion with him* Advertisements have been 
inserted in all the papers by Fenthurst's legal 
advisers, for the purpose of discovering the 
individual in question, but as no answer has 
been forthcoming, it is generally believed that 
the whole story is a myth, At any rate, there 
seems but small chance of the alibi being 
proved at the last moment. The murder 
was committed on February 6th. Since his 
condemnation the murderer has been con- 
fined in Silkminster (!aol, where his execution 
will take place," 

Astonishment and dismay confronted me 
as I laid the paper down, /was the missing 
witness they had so vainly sought. I 
distinctly remembered, early in February, 
running up to town rather late in the after- 
noon, spending just half an hour there, 
and returning by the first train I could catch. 
My landlady didn't even know but that I had 
been for rather a longer walk than usual I 
had entered into conversation on the return 

journey with the only other occupant of 
my compartment, a young man with a small 
black bag, on which were 
painted the letters "C. FV' I 
remembered ali this distinctly. 
In order to make sure I 
snatched up my diary, and 
quickly turned to the date of 
the murder, February 6th. 
There was the entry : (t Ran 
up to town in afternoon. In- 
quired concerning material for 

Chap. viL Saw B for 

half-hour. Returned by 6.42 train." 

The horror of the situation now 
flashed upon me. A man's life — the 
life of my old friend's son— depended 
upon me. I looked at my watch. 
It was just eleven o'clock. Hurriedly 
I dragged on my boots, thinking the 
while what I should do. My first 
impulse was to rush to the telegraph 
office. Then, with dismay, I remem- 
bered that it was shut for the night after 
eight o'clock, and that the postmaster took 

the S.30 train to the large town of F , 

about five miles off, where he lived, leaving 
the office for the night in the charge of 
a caretaker, and returning by an early train 
the next morning. 

It was impossible to telegraph. Then I 
thought of going to the police (there were 
just two constables and a sergeant in our 
little town), but what could they do more 
than I ? Country police are proverbial for 
the leisurely '* routine * J manner in which 
they set about any inquiry, and it would 
never do to trust to them, I was in despair. 
Madly I threw on my hat and rushed out. 
1 ran in a mechanical way to the post-office. 
Of course, it was shut — and if I had aroused 
the caretaker, he couldn't have wired ; besides, 

all our wires went first to F 1 and, as I 

have said, all communication was shut off 
after eight o'clock. Then I started for 
the railway station. This was about half a 
mile from the post-office, and well outside the 
town. As I hurried along, I thought, with 
fresh dismay, that this would also prove a 
fruitless errand, for the last train to Silk- 
minster was the 8.30 p,m., by which I 
have mentioned the postmaster always 
travelled. Silkminster, I must mention, was 
nearly 150 miles down the line. 

Should I wait till the morning and tele- 
graph ? I remembered that the office did 
not open //// eight o'clock! I had^ by this 
time, reached the station. Of course, it was 
all s^|Vff^^'^ttipl^||i^^^re out, except 


I2 S 


those in the signal Limps for the night 
expresses. It was now past half-past eleven. 
Was there no hope ? Yes ! 

At this moment my eye caught a light in 
the signal-box, about a quarter of a mile up 
the line. I could see the signalman in his 
box, the outline of his figure standing out 
against the light within. I looked at my 
watch : the down express from London was 
almost due, I would make a rush for that 
signal-box, and compel the occupant to put 
the signal against it and stop it. It was a 
des[>erate game ; but only get that train to 
stop for an instant, and all would be right, 
By getting into it I could reach Silkminster 
in the early morning, and what cared I for 
any action the company might take if I saved 
my friend's son ? If the signalman refused 
to put back the levers, the strength born of 
desperation would enable me to master him, 
and relax them myself. All this flashed 
across me in an instant, and I clambered 
over the railings on the side of the station, 
and found myself on the line. 

Even as I reached the rails, a semaphore 
signal that was near me let fall its arm, and 

the red light changed into a brilliant gTeen. 
The express was signalled! Would there be 
time? I dashed along over the rough 
sleepers towards the signal box. It was 
very dark, and I stumbled over and over 
again. I had cleared about half the distance, 
when I heard the ominous roar ahead, and 
in a few seconds could distinguish the distant 
glitter of the engine's head lamp bearing 
towards me. The train was just over a mile 
from me, rushing on at express speed. With 
a groan I ejaculated, ** Too late ! iy 

At that instant my eye Ml upon a ghastly- 
looking structure by the side of the track, 
looming grimly through the darkness. It 
resembled a one-armed gallows with a man 
hanging from it ! For a moment I thought it 
must have been a fearful fancy conjured up 
by the thought of Fenthursfs dreadful fate, but 
immediately I remembered that this strange- 
looking apparition was none other than a 
mail -bag suspended from a post — in fact, 
part of the apparatus by which a train going 
at full speed picks up the mails. The ex- 
press train that was coming had a postal car 
attached to it From the side of the car a 
strong rope net would be laid out, catching 
the bag I saw suspended before me. 

As a bag would be deposited from the train 
in a somewhat similar manner, there ought 
to have been a man on guard. I afterwards 
found he had left his post and gone to have a 
chat with his friend in the cheery signal-box. 

A mad and desperate idea took possession 
of me. The train that was bearing down, and 
which would reach me in one minute, should 
pick me up w T ith the mails ! I grasped the idea 
of the thing in a second. If I could hang on 
to that bag so that it came between me and the 
net, it would break the force of the shock, 
and the net would receive me as well as the 
bag- Fortunately I am a small man. The 
bag hung just over my head. I jumped at it, 
seized it, drew myself up parallel with it, held 
it firmly at the top, where it swung by a hook, 
and drew my legs up so as to present as small 
a compass as possible* It did not take me 
half a minute to do all this. Then I waited. 
It was but a few seconds, but it seemed hours. 
I heard the roar of the approaching train. 
Then the engine dashed past me* I shall 
never forget the row of lighted carriages 
passing about a foot away from me — closer 
even than that, I suppose — and I hanging and 
waiting for the crash to come. 

And it came. There was a dull thud — a 
whirr and a rush, and all w r as dark. 
Original from 

™^W'5F WCWftffll was lying on 



the floor of the postal van. Two men in 
their shirt - sleeves were busily engaged in 
sorting letters at a rack. I felt bruised and 
stiff all over, and I found that my left arm 
was bound in a sling made out of a hand- 

" Where are we? " I asked. 

They turned round. 

" Oh, you've come to, have you ? " said 
one of them. "Now, 
perhaps, you'll give an 
account of yourself. 
It's precious lucky 
you're here at all, let 
me tell you, for If you 
had been a taller man 
we should only have 
got part of you in the 
net. As it is, you've 
got your collar - bone 
broken. \Ve\e tied it 
up a bit. Now, perhaps, 
you'll speak out; and 
look here, if we find 
youVe been dodging the 
police, don't you go 
thinking you'll give 'em 
the slip any further. 
The mail van ain't a 
refuge of that sort." 

I told them the mo- 
tive that had prompted 
me to take the desperate 
step I had done. They 
wouldn't believe it at 
first. Luckily, though, 
I had put the evening 
paper and my diary in 
my pocket, so I showed 
them the parn graph and 
the entry. They were 
civil enough then. 

u Well, sir, we shall 
be in Silkminster about 
three, or a little after. 
I hope you'll be able 
to save I he poor beggar, 
our turning to work again, and the best thing 
for you will be to rest yourself." 

They piled a quantity of empty mail-bags 
on the floor and made me a rough shake- 
down. Before he went to his work again, 
the other one said : — 

M What a pity you never thought of a better 
way out of the difficulty than coming in here 
so sudden-like." 

"There was no other way," 

You must excuse 

by Google 

" Yes there was r sir." 
11 What was that ? " 

" Why, you should have got the signalman 
to telegraph to Silkminster: he could have 
done it all right," 

What an idiot I had been, after all ! How- 
ever, I should be in time to stop the 

A little after three we drew up at Silk- 
minster Station. There 
was a policeman on the 
platform, and I at once 
told my story to him, 
the result being that we 
drove round to the gaol 
and insisted upon see- 
ing the governor- Of 
course, he was deeply 
interested in what I 
had to tell him, and at 
once made arrange- 
ments to stop the execu- 
tion. The Home Sec- 
retary was communi- 
cated with by means 
of special wire. For- 
tunately, he happened 
to be in town, and after 
a couple of hours of 
anxious suspense, a re- 
prieve w T as received 
from him. 

" Well," said the 
governor, " I don't 
know which 1 ought to 
congratulate most, Mr. 
Fenthurst or yourself, 
for you have both had 
a most narrow- escape." 
Little remains to be 
told. I soon identified 
the condemned man as 
the person whom I had 
met in the train. He 
atk!" 4 also turned out to be 

the son of my old 
friend, as I had fully expected. After the 
due formalities he was discharged. Suspicion 
having strongly attached itself to his name, 
however, he was very miserable, until about a 
fortnight afterwards the real murderer was 
discovered and captured. Charles Fenthurst 
and myself became firm friends, and although 
I w T as fearfully shaken and upset for some 
weeks after this adventure, I never regretted 
the night on which I was picked up with the 

Original from 


Vanishing Valentines* 

By W. G. FitzGeralix 

T the present day, when ladies 
in bifurcated nether garments 
may be seen awheel in Picca- 
dilly, or enjoying a cigarette in 
the smoking-room of their own 
club, it is no wonder that the 
pretty custom of sending valentines is fast 
falling into desuetude. In the days of 
Chancer and Shakespeare, the charming, if 
fanciful, theory obtained that birds chose 
their mates on the 14th of February. Later 
on, shy maidens and laggard lovers took advan- 
tage of this uncertain object-lesson from Nature, 
and were emboldened to go through a form of 
betrothal on St. Valentine's Day. In the 
course of time, however, this ceremony was 
preceded by an exchange of fancy cards, on 
which were written declarations of love in 
more or less shaky doggerel. Now, as it is 
not given unto every man to be a poet, there 
was clearly a brilliant commercial career 
before the man who would put on the market 
a quantity of passable sentimental verse, 
accompanied by appropriate designs — in a 
word, valentines as we know them. 

Here is one of the very earliest of these 

4—* A/ ymm 


y.W *J~ 

prints, published in 1827, and remarkable for 
its graceful simplicity (Fig, r). The subject of 
the sailor and his lass, by the way, has served 
the valentine designer on more occasions 
than we care to count ; nor is this surprising, 
in view of the fact that Jack has at all times 
loyally observed StV Valentine's Day. Indeed, 
we are quite satisfied that in the dock districts 
of London and Liverpool, the guileful retailer 
has a special tariff for sailors, whereby the 
latter are not only induced to pay double 
prices for a valentine that suits their fancy, 
but are also charged a comparatively large 
sum for a pipe or tobacco pouch which is 
introduced into the purchase, and which the 
dealer could never otherwise dispose of. 

It may be interesting to mention here that 
this ingenious system of business reached 
the Midlands; and the Birmingham manu- 
facturers hailed it as a Hea% r en-sent notion 
for pushing the sale of shoddy jewellery. 
They ordered hundreds of gross of senti- 
mental valentines in boxes, stipulating that 
the design should include a piece of loose 
blue ribbon on which might be hung watches, 
engagement rings, pencil cases, and charms, 
such as only Birmingham 
can produce. The finished 
valentines were then re- 
tailed at audacious prices, 
and found wonderful 
favour in the eyes of per- 
sons of a utilitarian turn 
of mind. 

Artists of some repute 
soon turned their atten- 
tion to valentines. Our 
next reproduction is from 
a design by Kenny 
Meadows, in 1832 {Fig, 
2). At this time, comic 
valentines were unknown ; 
people took their love 
affairs somewhat seriously, 
and paid so generously for 
pictorial love-letters, that 
m a 11 u f a c turers were 
enabled to employ first- 
rate artists. Simple though 
thgpdesign appears, this 
■valcAtiifte.Qf Mr. Meadows 



©flf* 1 





sold at two shillings— a sum for which 
one can now buy a gorgeous and per- 
fumed arrangement of silk and hand- 
painted satin, artificial flowers, and 
gold and silver lace paper. 

Novelties in valentines came but 
slowly. No departure from a some- 
what sickly sentimentality was made 
until the " fourteenth " came to be 
regarded less seriously. Then came 
valentines containing a certain element 
of mechanical contrivance —a tongue 
of card-board, which, when jerked, 
caused the figures in the picture to 
move. We are enabled to show here 
the origin of this type, which dates 
from about 1840 (Fig, 3}, The design 
consists of a church, of no known 
architecture ; and, on folding back a 
flap, the recipient of the valentine 
has a view through the wall of this 
remarkable edifice, in which it appears 
a wedding is taking place. The 
minister's hand is raised in benedic- 
tion, but the bridegroom jpeni-s to be 
a little ill at ease, 

Valentines now became more 
elaborate and expensive. Here 
is a photograph of one specially 
made for the Hyde Park Exhi- 
bition of 185 r (Fig. 4), This 
valentine is still preserved in a 
massive frame by the manu- 
facturers, Messrs, Goode Bros., 
of Clerkenwell Green. It is 
composed of thousands of leaves 
and beads > put together by 
hand ; it took the most skilful 
lady designers of the day about 
a fortnight to make, and it cost 
ten pounds. At this time the 
above firm used a thousand 
pounds' worth of artificial flowers 
in a week, solely for sentimental 
valentines, Sa t i n was pu rchased 
in quantities of 5,000 yards at a 
time, and the annual bill for 
lace paper came £0^3,400. A 
thousand a year was paid for 

«- * 

FtC. 3.— J 

Ori qin affnnm 


ABOUT iflrfjo). 




boxes, and small fortunes were 
spent in humming birds, birds of 
paradise, and dry perfumes, such 
as kegs of lavender powder, 
Tonquin bean, and orris root 

Fig + 5 illustrates the fashionable 
valentine of this period, which 
can only be described as a kind 
of satin pillow inclosed in a box, 
and perfumed and ornamented. 
Sending valentines of this sort to 
friends in the Colonies caused 
such an export trade to spring 
up, that single houses in Sydney 
and Melbourne soon began to 
send in orders for a thousand 
pounds 1 worth at a time. And 
very expensive, too, were these 
Antipodean valentines, the whole- 
sale shipping terms in many cases 
being 200s. per dozen, Never 
again, we may safely predict, will 
valentines fetch such preposterous 
sums as were realized by the class 
to which Fig. 6 belongs. 

The Ballarat gold fever was at 
its height when the Australian 
houses sent urgent messages to 
the Tendon makers for a special 
" line J] suitable for the gold-laden, 
improvident miners. As might 

VqL u.-ie, 

i t. 3 ^ifc! 





be expected, the designers set to work with 
amazing celerity, and produced an extraordi- 
nary valentine more than 2ft. long and 
Inclosed in a shallow box. It was made up 
of artificial flowers and 
leaves, paintings on 
satin, and imitation 
gems. The go Id- 
seekers paid from 
£\o to £21 each for 
these valentines, one 
of which is depicted 
in Fig* 6, The original 
belongs to Mr. King, 
of 304, Essex Road, 
N. f who, we have no 
hesitation in saying, 
possesses the largest 
and most complete 
t( valentine museum w 
in the world. Another 
curious and elaborate 
valentine, ma de- 
wit h paper springs, 
was in great re- 
quest half a century 

From this time we 
note the genesis of the 
comic valentine, and, 
curiously enough, the 
policeman figures in 
the very first* 

Fig. 7 is a repro- 
duction from a very old proof, the caricature 
being directed against exaggerated officialism ; 
and Fig, 8 is a photograph of a page of one 
of Mr, King's innumerable albums. The 
"suit" thus quaintly depicted was described 


as being of il real cloth, cut by a tailor of 
repute." No sooner were these and similar 
humorous productions sprung upon an admir- 
ing public, than the designers east about for 

further novelties, the 
result being that senti- 
mental valentines were 
for a time somewhat 

Fig. 9 shows another 
page from one of Mr. 
King's albums ; and 
it should be noted 
that the whimsical 
figures are clad in real 
cloth, and that the 
wild-looking lady in 
the middle has a pro- 
fusion of woolly hair, 
pasted on. *■ Cupid's 
Official Telegraph" 
{Fig, 10) was next 
hailed with delight as 
a novelty in valentines. 
It was sent out in a 
reddish -yellow 
envelope, and was 
altogether so close an 
imitation ol the real 
article, that the then 
Postmaster- General 
set about binding the 
makers with red tape, 
and finally con- 
demned the quaint little missive altogether, 
Not to be beaten, the designers instantly pro- 
duced a Post Office Order, worded in the 
drollest possible manner. This was also 
withdrawn " bv order, •' the authorities being 

versity of Michigan 


J 3 r 


apparently quite destitute of humour ; at any 
rate, one would have thought such small 
game as this unworthy of serious considera- 
tion by a Government department. 

There must have been a tremendous 

demand, though, for this sort of valentine. 
Baffled by the Post Office, the ingenious 
designers turned their attention to the Bank 
of England, and issued thousands of notes 
on that world-renowned and long-established 

^^..cMiHftOTTOp MICHIG* 



If tho linoeritj of the wMitJinc-nUi eomefad in ihta Tddgmm ha doabt*Hi, tbrf wU] he repealed, 
bet dowble tho pnmbw of fcb-^ *ntictp*t«3 wfll b* tequlnd in wraook If too m*nj ■« |iru bj mistiko. the Mads of 
thLi *^Ll fliiilj repfc? «DQfa tira en the nibj Ujw ol ih* f*k recipient of Utf» Tnkfiwn. Whea tbu »*i o* * «j,lf 

-■ of wqtAm m neh replf *re in rauwH of "Well I'm hub," *"Be 

by an Uti* bomber of 
mut mo* ofrtu 

l payment- IT *Oft cqadt i 
idi recipient of liti ToJj 
Vj » L&fer'i T«l«i-wn bit b**n prepaid, and tho n amber of wmd* in neh mpljF in 
quiet do." ittrniibea bj * lew biuiha, tho nader of nob nply U bound to ptf titra few inch eras, bj 
«F k dnHnD«au. FractLaiai at \1*m* do not oonnt* and when Telegram are takan in bj ft tbitd party the. i 
them and kin bj proxy, 

N+B.-Thii Fotm abonld occupy i l»dri tbmgbla on Ua r«UT?a of BL Valrattn*, ^ ^ 


Amdflf in ai £i<Jt±*£f J$t*&&t, 0$ic* at / Af Bsceimd (it it hoptd} at J* '/ 

From To 


sM&& ff/:/ A^ 

it* of i 

/W ,##7. 

Dii«J SLunp of 

Ttallrefbig Office. 



institution, the "Bank of Love" (Fig. n). 
The Old 1 *atly of Thread needle Street, how- 
ever^ would have none of it, so she compelled 
the manufacturers to withdraw the notes from 
circulation. They were, therefore, l( called 
in " in the orthodox manner. 

But the craze for commercial, official, and 

financial valentines was far from being dead. 
Swayed by the public, the makers continued 
to produce I O U's, jury and other sum- 
monses, promissory notes, official reports, 
writs, marriage certificates and licenses, 
School Board notices, wills, and acceptances. 
One of these latter is reproduced in Fig. 12, 

rAatw &/ymis. 


irbyifWi QO^l£ 

_ OdginaLfr&m 





^^^ flLy 


fig, ia + — a tkap run THfc unwary. 

and seems to have been specially designed 
with the view of expediting matters in breach 
of promise actions. Correctness of phrase- 
ology was observed with such scrupulous care, 
and paper and printing were imitated so 
closely in these valentines* that there can be 
no doubt of their being formidable weapons 
in the hands of practical jokers and un- 
scrupulous persons. Will it be believed 
that change in hard cash was given for 
notes on the Bank of Love ! Women were 
deluded by the strangely- worded marriage 
certificates and licenses, signed by Peter 
Tiethemtightj MA., whose name is not to be 
found in Croekford ; and busy men lost time 
and money over jury summonses, issued in 
the vague county of " Eithersex*" This class 
of valentine gave place to the cheap comic 
prints, coarse and vulgar, as a rule, which we 
see in fancy shops prior to the now decadent 
"fourteenth/' and which sold like wild-fire 
about twenty-five years ago. 

Practically, there is but one firm left in 
the valentine trade, namely, Messrs. Goode 
Brothers, of Clerk en well. The astonishingly 
rapid decline of the valentine within the past 
ten years brought ruin to many a wholesale 
manufacturer, to whom the trade was worth 
perhaps ^20,000 a year, between the years 
1870 and 1875— the golden age of the valen- 
tine. At this period a single maker would 
keep six designers and eighty girls employed 
on valentines all the year round. Rice paper 
from China was bought by the shipload ; 
plush, in wholesale quantities of 9,000 yards 
at 25. per yard ; and silk fringe, from 
Coventry, in bales of a hundred gross of 
yards. Twenty years ago, too, the big valen- 
tine dealer's turnover was a thousand pounds 
a week during the three months of the 
season ; and in his workrooms a quarter of a 
ton of the finest white gum disappeared in 

the dainty trifles. I ; our well-paid male artists 
designed the " comics " — mainly trade skits 
and domestic incidents— and these were 
reproduced on 1,500 reams of paper. 
The machines were kept going night 
and day, turning out a million carica- 
tures a week, of which some 5,000 gross 
were dispatched to Australia by sailing 
vessels in May and June. From a hundred 
to a hundred and thirtv different comic 
designs were produced every year, and one 
house would have five smart " commercials " 
showing the pattern-books to retailers in all 
parts of the kingdom. 

When one knows these things, it is 
extremely interesting to listen to the 
great wail that goes forth from whilom 
valentine makers. M Valentines belong to 
the past," say they ; " therefore we have 
given up making them, JJ One is then 
referred to Messrs, Goode Brothers for 
practical information ; thither we went for 
the purpose of seeing how valentines are 
made. It seems that plush, satin, lace 
paper, fringe, and sachet powder are still 
bought wholesale, but in sadly reduced 
quantities. There is left but one solitary 
lady designer, and she must have ready two 
sets of about fifty different designs of senti- 
mental valentines in the month of September, 
the retail prices to range from id to 5s, 
One set, packed in trays, is taken away by 
the traveller, and according to his reports 
large quantities of certain designs are 
promptly put in hand to be made. The 
second set is retained at head-quarters for 
guidance. Nor must we omit to add that, in 
many cases, scope is left in the design for 
the introduction of such foreign matter as 
cheap jewellery and the superfluous stock of 
fancy dealersginal from 

Q.mi*5ifY*Ptetti^ ows the interior 



Fit;, I^— THE 


of the ** sentimental " workroom. The 
w hand-paintings on satin" which mark the 
superior article are reeled off at a perfectly 
amazing rate by outside lady artists, who earn 
about 25s. it week at the work* This is as it 
should be, seeing that for each separate work 
of art the sum of three farthings is paid. As 
a rule there is a church, with a pond in the 
foreground bordered with a few straggling 
rushes, and over the surface of the water a 
small flock of strange birds are hovering. 
During our investigations, by the way, we 
noticed but few of these "hand-paintings yt 
without the birds. 
" They are done 
in a moment and 
are so effective," 
was the curious 
comment of the 
forewoman* The 
sheets of satin given 
out to lady artists 
are folded into 
squares, and mea- 
sure 15m* by iain. 
The rates of pay 
for comic and senti- 
mental valentine 
poetry are not such 
as would tempt 
either Mr. Morris 
or Mr. Swinburne. 
Time was, indeed, 
when the wholesale 
houses were con- 

strained to adver- 
tise for designers 
and poets; but 
now, we grieve to 
say, sixpence for 
eight lines of verse 
is considered fair 
remu nerat ion. 
This being so, it 
seems rather 
strange that our 
informants should, 
in the season, be 
almost over- 
whelmed with 
poetry, sent chiefly 
by ladies, many of 
whom ask com- 
paratively enor- 
mous sums for 
their rhymes, and 
never fail to mark 
even the veriest 
nonsense " copy- 
right/' in aggressively bold characters. The 
firm whose premises we visited now keep but 
two comic valentine artists. These gentle- 
men produce about twenty different designs 
every season, and x 0,000 copies of each 
design are made. 

Our illustration (Fig. 14) depicts the in- 
terior of the comic designing room. The 
artist in the middle is drawing on stone one 
of his own designs; for each finished design 
he receives five shillings, or half a sovereign if 
he reproduces it on the stone. Comic valen- 
tine artisis may not be as clever as Phil May, 





or as careful in detail as Sarnboume, but that 
they are observant and up-to-date will be 
seen from a glance in the stationers* windows 
at the beginning of February. It is interesting 
to note that there are certain districts which 
are dear to the designer's heart by reason 
of their having a marked partiality for a 
certain subject For example, a comic 
valentine showing a stalwart athlete, who has 
apparently sustained serious bodily damage 
on the football field, is certain to command 
a great sale in the North of England, and 
especially in Lancashire. It is absolutely 
necessary, however, that the football itself 
be seen in the pic- 

Again, the favourite 
comic designs of Fly- 
mouth and Forts- 
mouth are those 
which caricature in 
a genial way our 
gallant soldiers and 
sailors. The photo- 
graph we reproduce 
in Fig. 1 5 shows the 
" comic }i machines 
at work It is not 
a little amusing to 
watch the cylinders 
turning out these 
grotesque pictures 
with a rhythmical 
swing. The sheets 
of four are then cut 

up and sent to the 
dispatch depart- 
ment, where the 
designs are mixed, 
in order that re- 
tailers may get a 
complete assort- 
ment. Here the 
perennial comic 
policeman, who 
seems to be for ever 
receiving surrepti- 
tious grog or rabbit 
pie, has for his 
companions jovial 
soldiers and sailors, 
domestic servants 
of all grades, im- 
possible trades- 
men, more or less 
happy parents, and 
even several 
varieties of the so- 
called New Woman. 
One of the very few of the valentine 
11 commercials J1 left in London tells a woful 
tale of the dying trade, Every season a fresh 
batch of fancy dealers shake their heads at 
his approach, with the remark, " I don't 
think 111 go in for it this year." The valen- 
tine trade in the Metropolis is simply infini- 
tesimal ; the matter-of-fact Londoner prefers 
to send his lady-love a box of gloves on the 
"fourteenth," and we opine that the damsel 
herself prefers this useful valentine even to 
the chastely designed 4t sentimental " of to-day, 
though the latter be resplendent with alu- 
minium frosting which costs a guinea a pound. 

FPtj, 16. 




It is a noteworthy fact that Ireland and 
Wales continue to take sentimental valentines 
in some quantities, the miners of Cardiff and 
the Rhondda Valley district paying as much as 
five shillings each for suitable designs ; it goes 
without saying, of course, th;it appropriate 
valentines are designed for these places. Yet, 
notwithstanding support of this sort, there 
can be no doubt that the custom observed 
on the 14th of February will soon be numbered 
among the interesting memories of the past. 

Perhaps the most extraordinary valentine 
we are enabled to reproduce is that shown in 
Fig, 16, a veritable valentine for the blind. 
It is to Lady Falkland that the idea is due ; 
and this lady is one of the most charitable 
and industrious of the philanthropic "seeing 
workers " who devote themselves to the well- 
being of their sight- 
less brethren. Here 
is a translation of the 
playful verse in Braille 
type already given, 
which consists of 
raised dots systemati- 
cally arranged :— 


In. speaking of a person's 
Pray don't forget your 
own \ 
Remember, I hose with 
homes of glass 
Should seldom throw a 

Designs or figures of any kind are never put 
upon valentines or Christmas cards for the 
blind, simply because such designs and 
figures, being flat, would convey false impres- 
sions to these afflicted, but generally cheerful, 
people. Here is a photograph of the blind 
writer turning out valentines for the amuse- 
ment of hundreds of his fellows all over the 
country {Fig. 17)* 

As a rule, a seeing person prepares 
the first design : this enables the blind 
copyist to dispense with a seeing reader, who 
would otherwise be required to dictate the 
text* The photograph shows the copy 
beneath the left hand of the sightless 
operator. With his right hand the blind man 
is punching the dots on the soft, thick paper, 
with a style resembling a gimlet, about 2in, 

long. The paper is 
held firmly on the 
board by a trans- 
verse piece of brass, 
which also guides 
the lines and is 
punctured to allow of 
the dots being made 
through it. We are 
indebted for our re- 
productions of both 
valentine and photo- 
graph to Mr. G, R, 
Boyle, of the British 
and Foreign Blind 


by Google 

Original from 

RAYER is better than 
sleep ! P ray e r i s bet te r 
than sleep I Prayer — 
is better — than sleep." 
The sound of the 
Mussulman's greeting 
to the day rang clear and impres- 
sive through the keen early morning 
air from the great Mosque of Fez 
across the spacious yard of the Kasbah, 
filled with the Cadi's drowsy guards; along 
the narrow streets, overhung with the ghostly 
habitations of the faithful ; past the famous 
square market-place, as yet untenanted save 
for a few Jews in their gaily-coloured jubbas, 
and one or two white turbaned Moors ; into 
the lattice- windowed, low-ceilinged sleeping 
rooms of the only hotel in the Holy Town 
of Fez where an infidel, even though he be 
under the special protection of the Most 
High and Mighty Sultan of Morocco, may 
rest his thrice-accursed body with tolerable 

The only infidel thus favoured at the time 
of which we write was the Honourable 
He re ward Trevayne. The call to prayers 
awoke him with a start Springing from his 
bed f he went to the window overlooking the 
court-yard. A faint haze palpitated over the 
distant minarets, which pointed with their 
slender fingers toward an unspeakably blue 
sky, just tinged ju the horizon with streaks 
of the palest rose colour. liven as he looked, 

Vol, Lx^ 19, 

the streaks broadened in extent and deepened 
in hue, until, with a swiftness like the rushing 
of the wind, the whole sky was flooded with a 
crimson flame, which was as rapidly chased 
away by the triumphant beams of the rising 
sun, in whose golden glow the entire scene 
was soon bathed. 

Impressed by the solemnity of the call of 
the Muezzin, and by the marvellous beauty 
of the dawn, Here ward drew a deep breath ; 
then, turning to dress, he murmured, aloud: — 

" * Prayer is better than sleep/ Ah, yes j 
sometimes, no doubt. Looking out of that 
window at the sunrise, for instance. But 
just now, it strikes me rather forcibly that, so 
far as one individual is concerned, breakfast 
is better than either ! " 

Which soliloquy was no sooner ended than 
he shouted at the top of his voice : — 

"Yussuf! Yussuf!* 

The door opened almost immediately, and 
a smooth, swarthy-faced Arab glided noise- 
lessly into the room. 

"Has tt©riljtffldl flftDtefc sufficiently rested 




his honourable bones?" he asked, with a low 

Yussufs knowledge of English was re- 
markably good for a native, but it did not 
include an intimate acquaintance with 
Debrett or even Whitaker. He had been 
told that Trevayne was, or might be one day, 
a very important personage in his own 
country, and therefore had a right, Yussuf 
thought, to the highest English titles which 
could be bestowed upon him. The idea 
tickled Trevayne immensely, and he always 
kept up the joke. 

" My honourable bones," he replied, 
gravely, " are sufficiently rested ; but my 
honourable stomach cries aloud that it has 
more than sufficiently rested. * In plain 
English, Yussuf, breakfast, and as soon as 
you like ! " 

Yussuf bowed low and left the room as 
noiselessly as he had entered it. 

Trevayne had come to Fez in order to add 
a fresh experience to his already long list. 
He was a younger son of Lord Trevayne, 
and as such was travelling to " receive impres- 
sions" before finally settling down to a 
political career. 

Travelling, to Hereward Trevayne, how- 
ever, did not mean the same thing as it 
apparently does to many of our brilliant 
young politicians, who, after a sort of per- 
sonally conducted Cook's tour through the 
Colonies, return to pose as colonial states- 
men. Nothing was so abhorrent to Trevayne. 
He vastly preferred to wander alone to and 
fro over the face of the earth, exploring its 
strange corners with even more interest than 
its well-known places. After nearly three 
years' absence from England, he had worked 
his way back as far as Morocco. At Tangier, 
however, he had heard that a caravan was to 
start shortly from Fez into the interior, and 
with characteristic impulsiveness he suddenly 
decided to make one of the party, intending 
to return with a homeward-bound caravan, 
which, it was calculated, would be met with 
a few days' journey distant from Fez. He 
had accordingly, though not without a good 
deal of bother, settled all the necessary pre- 
liminaries, and had become a prospective 
member of the caravan. 

That was a month ago, and the day of 
departure now appeared to be hardly any 
nearer. Sometimes, indeed, twelve or 
eighteen months are spent in making ready 
the equipment for such a caravan, the pre- 
parations principally consisting in the collec- 
tion and arrangement of the merchandise to 
be bartered away to the negro tribes in the 

far interior for ostrich feathers, gold dust, 
skins, tusks, and, occasionally, diamonds. 
To Trevayne's inquiries every morning the 
cry was still the same. 

41 Inshallah ! If it please God — to-morrow." 

But to-morrow the pig-skin water-boules 
must be made water-tight by being filled with 
oil and left to dry in the sun. And then 
there are the dates to be pressed into the 
saddles to form comfortable cushions until 
required for food. And so on, almost, it 
seemed to Trevayne, to infinity. 

Finally, after the ten thousand details of a 
caravan equipment have been attended to, 
there is the merry-making and feasting, which 
is invariably indulged in for a week or two 
previous to the actual start. 

It was during these last few days that 
Hassan, who, with Yussuf, had been engaged 
by Trevayne as guide, was caught in the act 
of stealing some money belonging to the 
proprietor of the hotel. Trevayne dealt 
summarily with the thief, for it was not his first 
offence. He took Hassan by the scruff of the 
neck, and kicked him vigorously all along 
the wide veranda, down the broad staircase, 
through the lengthy hall, and out of the grand 
entrance into the crowded street beyond. By 
this time the erring native had attained a 
velocity certainly never before equalled by 
any voluntary efforts on his part. Indeed, 
so rapidly was he travelling, that before he 
could stop himself he had collided with two 
or three fierce-looking Riffs, whose hands 
instinctively glided to their daggers. How- 
ever, they passed on without molesting the 
unhappy Hassan, whom they left feeling him- 
self all over for broken bones, and cursing 
Trevayne for finding him out and himself for 
getting found out. 

Yussuf, who had witnessed the incident 
with twitching fingers and a curious half 
closing of the eyes, turned to Trevayne and 
said, solemnly : — 

" Kismet It is the will of God. The 
Lord Duke has dealt mercifully with his 
thieving slave." 

" Oh ! " replied Trevayne, when he had re- 
covered his breath. " You think so, do you ? 
I'm not quite so sure about it myself. How- 


But Yussuf was persistent. In his colour- 
less, monotonous voice he continued, inter- 
rupting Trevayne : — 

" It was well for hkn that the Lord Duke 
chastised him, and did not hand him over 
to his tribe for the fitting reward of his sin." 

41 1 suppose so/' drily remarked Trevayne. 
" No doubt they would have substantially 






rewarded him for being smart enough to 
steal from his own countryman. Though, 
on the other hand, they might have punished 
him for the disgrace of being detected— and 
by an infidel, too." 

But the sarcasm was lost on Yussuf, who 
replied, reflectively : — 

** Yes, when Allah wills it, they open the 
thiePs hands and slash a knife across them, 
so — " and Yussuf ran the forefinger of his 
right hand diagonally across the palm of his 
left hand ; " and then rub saltpetre into the 
wounds, and shut up the thiePs hands and 
bind them ; and he can never open them to 
steal again. And sometimes they hold a 
red-hot iron to the eyes of the thief until 
they are gone, and the thief ne.;r again sees 
anything to steal God is great," concluded 
Yussuf, piously shaking his head. 

" Fiends ! " ejaculated Trevayne, with a 
gesticulation of horror. u And those poor 
blind wretches I have seen wandering about 
the streets are thieves then, eh ? Have 
been, I should say," he added. 

u The Ix>rd Duke has said it," replied 
Yussuf, quietly. 

At last the camels' loads, after almost 

innumerable futile 
attempts, were satis- 
factorily arranged, and 
everything was ready. 
As usual, a short preli- 
minary march was 
undertaken to test the 
mettle of the camels, 
and then the caravan 
fairly started on its 
tremendous journey. 

Soon the Holy City 
faded away in the 
distance ; first the 
rambling, white, ghost- 
like houses, then the 
minarets, tall and stern 
as if standing guard 
over their lowly bre- 
thren ; and then the 
drooping palm trees 
with their graceful out- 
lines projected in jet 
black against the blue 
brightness of the sky> 
lingering on the 
horizon as if bidding 
a last reluctant good- 
bye to the venturous 

Then on over the un- 
ending, wave-like dunes 
the vast procession ranged, until, the sand 
becoming interspersed with sharp, flinty 
stones, the caravan was halted in order that 
the camels' feet might be bound ruund and 
round with rags, making them look like huge 
boxing gloves* 

Then the night fell, outposts were stationed 
half a mile or so distant, and the caravan 
was formed into a sort of laager* but with 
the camels taking the place of the waggons 
and various impedimenta usually placed on 
the outside of the square. Inside, big fires 
were kept blazing all the night through, for 
in the desert the nights are icy cold, harder 
to be borne by reason of the burning 
heat of the day. Trevayne, wrapped up 
in his burnouse — for he had assumed the 
Arab costume — lay at a short distance from 
one of the fires, while not far from him lay 
Yussuf, asleep and snoring* 

The novelty and excitement of it all had 
kept Trevayne partially awake, and for a 
long time there danced grotesquely through 
his brain confused visions of fierce-faced 
Arabs, shambling camels, stretches of sand 
dazzling with the j;!;ire of a pitiless sun, rocks 
of ^ft^J^ftWI^ff^mgly by 



the way. At last, just as he was dozing off, he 
thought he heard a slight crackling— a sound 
as of someone creeping towards him through 
the sand. Raising himself on his arm, 
he peered around him. For a moment he 
could see nothing, and then, by the light of 
the fire, he discerned a man crawling away 
on his hands and knees. When the intruder 
reached a spot where he thought he could 
not be seen, he turned his head But Tre~ 
vayne's sight was very keen, and he saw with 
a feeling of astonishment, and something like 
dismay, that a knife gleamed between the 
teeth, and that the face was the face of 


Hassan, the dismissed guide! The object of 
the nocturnal visit was only too plain. 
Murder was writ large on the features of the 
treacherous villain. Revenge was doubtless 
the motive, But how did the cur come there? 
Trevayne puzzled over the problem for 
hour after hour, until the velvety darkness 
grew into an austere grey. Then, long 
before the sun was up, he was again startled, 
this time by a shout Rising to his feet, he 
saw two or three Arabs running round and 
awaking the sleepers by the simple but 
effective method of striking them a stinging 
blow with a long cane. 

by L^OOgle 

Yussuf soon came to arouse Trevayne in a 
more civilized manner, but finding him already 
a wake j shot a rapid glance around to insure 
that no listeners were near, and then began 
in a low, agitated voice : — 

"It was not well that the Lord Duke, not 
being of the true faith, himself punished the 
thieving Hassan. I, Yussuf, have seen 
Hassan in the caravan, and have heard from 
the lips of one who speaks truth that the 
chief of the caravan is of the same tribe. 
God is great, but a fear has sprung up in 
the heart of thy slave, even as a palm tree 
throwing a great shadow, for the dog Hassan 
is cunning, and seeks the 
life of the Lord Duke." 

Trevayne reflected a 
moment, and then told 
Yussuf of the attempt that 
had already been made* 
Yussuf heard the tale in 
silence, but the working of 
his face showed how deeply 
he was stirred. 

For the next three days 
both Trevayne and Yussuf 
kept a sharp watch on 
Hassan, but that worthy 
always managed to be in 
the rear of the caravan, 
whereas they were generally 
in the van, and consequently 
saw next to nothing of him. 
On the fourth day, when 
the sun was at its fiercest, 
and the heat was so oppres- 
sive that Trevayne had to 
gasp for the breath that 
seemed to scorch his very 
lungs, the half-dozen Arabs 
forming the advance guard 
were seen to suddenly 
*^, converge to a point, and, 

after a brief consultation, 
turn their camels 1 heads 
and ride towards the caravan. Evidently 
something had been sighted, and that some- 
thing might be the expected caravan, or it 
might be the dreaded Touaregs — those 
merciless pirates of the desert. 

In an instant all was animation. The 
heat was forgotten. The camels were halted 
and the square formed as at night, while the 
motley collection of weapons with which the 
party were armed* comprising almost all 
kinds of firearms, from old flint lock muskets 
to the latest Winchesters, were eagerly 
examined and made ready for use. 

When thes: preparauons were complete, 




and the outposts had been received into the 
square, a swirl of dust could be plainly 
seen advancing ri^ht down on to the 
caravan* Then the cloud of dust stopped 
and settled, and there rode out from it 
half-a-dozen Arabs, who soon made it known 
that they were friends, and that their party, 
in fact, formed the looked-for caravan. 

In a very short time the members of the 
two caravans were ejaculating praises :o the 
Prophet, and fraternizing in a most efTusive 
manner Trevayne was much struck by the 
gaunt, worn look of the new-comers* They 
had been away from home for two whole 
years, and their appearance showed that they 
had experienced the severest privations* The 
feasting, for which the most trifling occur- 
rence is deemed by the Arab to be sufficient 
excuse, took place with much ceremony, 
though the viands were neither very numerous* 
nor very rich. 

Far into the night the festivities extended, 
for the returning caravan would pass on its 
way on the morrow, the Arabs composing it 
being naturally anxious, now that they were 
so near home, to lose as little time as 

Everyone was 
stirring very early 
the next morning, 
and preparations 
for the departure 
of the two caravans 
on their opposite 
courses were 
pushed forward 
with all speed. 
Yussuf had gone 
some little distance 
off to look after 
the baggage, when 
Trevayne saw Has- 
san walk up, and 
after casting a mali- 
cious glance at him, 
go a few steps 
further on and say 
something in a 
hurried manner to 
the chief of the 
caravan, who was 
standing close by, 
and who at once 
turned and gazed 
at Trevayne with 
a deep frown on 
his dark, scarred 
face, Then, before 
Trevayne could 

realize what was happening, Hassan stepped 
up, and thrusting his hand into the folds of 
Trevayne's haik, pretended to draw forth a 
small dagger. It was the veriest trick, most 
clumsily performed. What the performance 
meant was a puzzle to Trevayne, who, how- 
ever, was filled with wrath at the insult, and 
was about to avenge it in true English 
fashion, w T hen he heard the chief shout a 
short* sharp command to his followers. The 
next moment , to Trevayne's utter amazement, 
he found himself surrounded by scowling 
Arabs, who, before he could defend himself 
in any way, pounced upon him, tied his 
hands behind him, and pushed him to where 
the chief was standing. 

Now, however, the meaning of Hassan's 
insulting trick was apparent to Trevayne. 
No doubt the lying hound had professed to 
have discovered a plot to murder the chief, 
for whose benefit the dagger farce had 
evidently been enacted, 

But he was wrong. Hassan's design was a 
far deeper one than he had conceived. Nor 
had he long to wait before making the dis- 
covery, for Yussuf, hearing the hubbub, 
rushed to the spot. In a minute he had 

by to 



14 = 


grasped the situation. Wringing his hands, 
he grovelled at the feet of the chief and ad- 
dressed him in tones of piteous entreaty, 
Trevayne glanced at the im- 
passive Arab chief; at the E r g," -5fcV r ~* 
imploring Yussuf; at his 
captors, armed to the teeth; 
at the motley crowd, attracted 
by the commotion ; and the 
knowledge that he, the central 
figure, knew least about it all 
caused his impatience to break 


all bounds. In a loud voice he called 
Yussuf, who rose from the sand, and slowly 
came towards his master. There was a look 
of despair in Yussuf 's eyes as he cried : — 

"God is great, but the Evil One is in our 
midst to work mischief. The dog of a thief 
has told the chief that thou — even thou, 
Lord Duke— hast stolen his dagger, and he 
asks that thou mayst be punished as one of 
the true faith." 

Then the full horror of his situation flashed 
upon Trevayne. 

"Surely/' he cried, as his face paled — 
" surely they won't cut my hands or burn out 
my eyes ! " Then, in a frenzy of fear, he 
shouted : "Tell the chief that it was only a 
trick- tell him why that fiend did it — that he 
tried to murder me the other night." 

Yussuf trembled ls Lord Duke>" he said, 
sorrowfully, " I have done even as thou hast 
said, and more also, but the chief will not 
listen* He says that his eyes cannot lie," 

"Tell him," cried Trevayne, in desperation, 
"that if I am harmed, my people will come 
and kill him and all his tribe/' 

Yussuf translated the threat to the chief, 
who calmly replied :- 

" Kismet It may come to pass even as 
the infidel sayeth. But it will go hard with 
those that seek me and my tribe in the 

desert It is written 
that justice must 
be done to the 
oppressed, and 
who am I that I 
should disobey? 
Let the infidel 
suffer the penalty 
of his crime/' 
The chief made a 
sign with his hand, 
and then went into 
his tent 

Justice is sum- 
marily dispensed in 
the desert The 
sentence had been 
pronounced, and 
would be carried 
into effect on the 
spot. Trevayne was 
dragged forward. 
Three or four 
Arabs held him 
fast, while a couple 
more unbound his 
arms sufficiently to 
enable them to pull 
his hands over a 
bale of merchandise. One had brought a bowl 
of saltpetre, and another drew his knife ready 
to inflict the wounds which would, Allah be 
praised, effectually prevent the dog of an 
infidel from ever again robbing a true believer, 
Trevayne had not tamely submitted to all 
this. Death he would have faced without 
turning a hair — but to be horribly maimed 
for life was far worse than death. And now 
a brazier of charcoal was brought, and 
Trevayne noticed with a thrill of terror that a 
small iron was sticking through the bars and 
was already nearly red-hot Despite all his 
efforts to control himself, the agony of his 
fear overcame him, and he struggled like a 
madman. It was useless. His hands were 
forced open and the knife was actually up- 
lifted, when, suddenly, the chief reappeared, 
shouted a brief command, and strode back 
to his tent. To Trevayne's inexpressible joy 
and bewilderment, the knife was slipped into 
its sheath and he was released from his 
bonds ! Without another word, he was 
hurried along to the homeward-bound 
caravan, which was already on the move, 
and almost tiefore he could realize his good 
fortune, he ^QMwS l \Mft to Fez. 


y ass uk 


Not until the caravan reached the Holy 
City did Trevayne become aware that 
Yussuf had not returned with him. After 
some deliber- 
ation on the 
subject, he 
came to the 
that the guide 


had been induced to throw in his lot with the 
outward" bound caravan. As to his own 
adventure, Trevayne decided that the Arabs 
had never intended to do anything more 
than frighten him. 

Notwithstanding his previous lengthy stay 
in Fez> Trevayne found sufficient to interest 
him in the reykm to the south of the town to 
keep him in the neighbourhood for nearly 
three weeks after his return. At length* how- 
ever, he made up his mind to start for 

On the morning of his intended departure, 
as he was finishing his breakfast at the hotel, 

he heard someone stumble into the passage 
leading to his room. He heard the intruder 
grope about outside, and then the door was 
pushed open. A native 
advanced into the room 
with a feeble, unsteady 
step. His head drooped 
forward, his chin upon his 
chest, Trevayne gazed 
curiously at his visitor, but 
in a moment his curi- 
osity was replaced by 
pity, for he saw that 
there were black 
cavities where the 
^ man J s eyes had been. 
He had evidently 
suffered the Arabs' 
diabolical punish- 
ment for theft* 
Trcvayne's heart was 
touched. Concluding 
that the man was a 
beggar, he put his 
hand in his pocket 
for some money to 
give him, saying, im- 
pulsively, tL My poor 

fellow " 

But as the native 
approached, he 
stretched forth his 
hands imploringly, 
and Trevayne saw with a sickening feeling of 
horror that they were red and inflamed, and 
tightly closed. Blind and maimed for life ! The 
remembrance of how narrowly and how in- 
explicably he had escaped the same terrible 
fate unmanned him. He was aroused by 
hearing a weak, quavering voice murmur, in 
heart-breaking accents of despair: — 

"They have burnt out mine eyes, and 
never again shall I see thy face ; and they 
have closed my hands, and never again shall 
1 open them — and thou t Lord Duke^ thou 
kn&west that J stole not the dagger / " 

" Good God ! " cried Trevayne, " Yussuf ! u 

by Google 

Original from 


The Population of the World. 

By J. Holt Schooling,* 

(Fdl&wof the Royal Statistical Society \ etc) 

HE population of the world has been 
given by various statisticians as follows: — 

In 1874, according to Ik'hm and Wagner 1,391 millions. 

ra J*7 a * pi Lcvasseur i ,439 M 

„ iSBa, „ Rthm ^nd Wagner ..,,., 1,434 „ 

», iSW } tt Levasseur . . . . . 1,483 tt 

,, 1891* ,* Wagner and Supan ...,,, M&> , t 

The last estimate may be regarded as suffi- 
ciently trustworthy as a working basis : 
Messrs. Wagner and Supan have earned a 
just reputation for painstaking and thorough 
work, and, moreover, this estimate of the 
German savants has been established to 
more than one-half its bulk (/>., to 57 per 
cent, of the 1,480 millions) upon the actual 
results of recent censuses. 

In dealing with this large population^ we 
have to deal with big figures and a good 
many of them. As masses of figures do not 
convey to the mind so clear an impression of 
the real facts they stand for as may be con- 
veyed by simple diagrammatic representations, 
I shall therefore show my figures as much as 
possible in the form of black and white 

For example, in No. 1 we have a graphic 
llustration of the following figures ; — 


Asia .„.+ ..»»....,,.*....,*»» 825,954,0™ 

Europe ..,,.... 357 ,379,000 

Africa ..,.,........,,-,, 163.9s3.00Q 

America „.»„,..,.... 131+713,000 

Oceanic Island* and Kolar Region* 7,500,400 

Australia , , . , . . 3,230,000 

The World ., 1,479,729,400 

People to whom these figures convey little 
or nothing ran get, by looking at No. i, a 
pretty clear idea of the balk of population on 
the various continents, etc. Each of these 
seven black squares has been drawn to exact 
mathematical scale, and, if the first six of 
them be cut out, and then fitted by aid of a 
pair of scissors upon the large square at the 
bottom, it will be found that the total area 
of these six squares exactly covers the large 
square ; in other words, the black surfaces of 
the six smaller squares * l add up to JP the black 
surface of the big square, which diagramma- 
tical!)' shows to us the number of people in 
the world — 1,480 millions, approximately. 

Here is another way to obtain a clear idea 
of how the world's population is split up. 
Thus : for every one thousand persons in the 
world there are ; — 

In Asia ... + 558 persons. 

,, Europe..,., 343 n 

nl AfrH.n rr lit if 

„ America 82 ,, 

1, Oceanic Islands ncicl J-'olar Regions 5 „ 
rt Australia P , , ? ,, 

ILL— Africa: ISJ million pt-rsoUiL 

IV,— Amerka- leij million jxfnwut. 

V.— 4jcc44Jc I dlu nd* and, f\>Ur KeHiumi t 7| million ^enana. 

V[.— Australia - ai million penont. 

The Wurld 


Total— The World : 1,4** million p noJUL 

No. 1. — The?* seven squares show the Papulation of the 
World: the areas of the squares respective ty illustrate the 
sizes of the jjopulations mentioned- not llie areas of the various 

continents.., ttc. 

•Cop^BflJ^J.W^GQn Holt ^ho^uTig. 




We see that more than one-half of the 
worlds population live in Asia, and nearly 
one-quarter in Europe; that about one-ninth 
of the people live in Africa, and just under 
one-twelfth in America (North, Central, and 
South combined), and that the aggregate 
populations of the Oceanic Islands, Polar 
Regions, and Australia account for only 
seven persons out of every one thousand 
people in the world. 

If asked to guess at the distribution of the 
world's population, nine people out of ten 
would probably place Asia, i ; Europe, 2 ; 
America, 3- But we see that Africa takes 
the third place instead of it being occupied 
by America, This is mainly due to the 
North Tropical Zone of Africa, which is 
larger than the whole of the United States, 
contains 42 million more people, and which 
is also more densely populated To this 
population of the North Tropical Zone of 
Africa, 60 millions are contributed by the 
Soudan and Upper Guinea only' — a number 
which nearly equals the 63 millions of the 
United Status of America enumerated at their 
census of 1890. 

It is also somewhat of a surprise to find 
Australia coming below the Oceanic; Islands, 
which contain nearly all of the 7}4 millions 
shown in No. 1, square V. (These islands 
contain the New Guinea group, New Zealand, 
the Sandwich Islands, etc) Only some 80 
thousand persons live in the Polar Regions, 
and of these, Iceland claims 69 thousand. 
The population of Australia is considerably 
less than that of London, and is not quite 
equal to the combined populations of Par is 
and St. Petersburg. 

And now let us compare the sizes of these 
continents, etc + , whose populations we have 
briefly glanced at* No. 2 shows the area in 
square miles of each of the six divisions of 
the earth already named in No. r. The 
actual figures are : — 

Square miles, 

Asia . . F *,.,+.,... * 17,044,000 

America ..*...•»..■■..•*..-. (4 T EkjT,ooo 

Afnea r ,.. 71,277,000 

Europe „,,,.»».., * Ji757i«» 

Australia , , , * + , + < 4 a T Q73 p oi» 

Oceanic Islands aud Polar Regions , 9,464,000 

Tlic World .... .,*.,.,..«... + * , * 5z> 315,000 

Here again, as in No, i t the black squares I. 
to VI, of No, z will, if cut out and fitted upon 
the large square representing the world's 
area t suffice to cover that square — they add 
up to it, just as the six rows of figures given 
here add up to the world's area, $2% 
million square miles, approximately. 

In this race for size the result is very 
different from that in the race for population, 

Vol, ix,-2a 

jitized by L^OOgle 

IL— America : H| iuillEu-n tquare milci. 

I1L— Aim*: 114 aiilliuXL *iuare mile* 

1V+— Euroj» : J| million square mile* 

V.— Australia : 3 million squire milc& 

VL— Oceanic Iftlindi nut! Polar Regions; 24 million square mils* 

Tutu L— The Worlil 

No, 2. — These srven squares shuw the Land -Area of the 
World ; ihe area* of the squares respectively illustrate the areaii 
of the various continents, etc-, ift square m.les. 




Here, it is Asia 1, America 2, Africa 3 : 
Europe is a bad fourth, and not far ahead of 
Australia, who was nowhere in No. r. 
Europe, as regards size, might be cut out of 
the big square for the world in No. 2 without 
making much of a hole in it — but fancy 
the world minus Europe and Europeans ! 
How quiet it might be if we were all sub- 
merged and the Atlantic waves lapped the 
side of Asia, which now adjoins Eastern 
Europe. Here's a chance for the Anarchists 
— don't waste time in pettifogging explosions, 
but blow up all Europe, and find your 
"equality" — and your proper level — at a 
certain number of fathoms beneath the sea- 

The following figures help us to appreciate 
the sizes of the six divisions of the world. 
For every one thousand square miles of land- 
area in the world, there are : — 

In Asia 326 sq. miles. 

„ America 283 tl „ 

„ Africa 2x5 „ „ 

„ Europe 72 „ „ 

„ Australia ... 57,, „ 

„ Oceanic Islands and Polar Regions. . 47 „ „ 

The World i,oco sq. miles. 

Thus, nearly one-third of the earth is in 
Asia, which also possesses more than one-half 
the population ; more than one-quarter of the 
earth went to make America, and over one- 
fifth for Africa. Europe contains only one- 
fourteenth part of the world's area, although 
she has nearly one-quarter of the population, 
and Australia contains one-eighteenth part. 
The last division on our list takes the 
" shillings from the guineas," being a twenty- 
oneth part of the world's area. 

Having now a fairly definite mental con- 
ception of the distribution of the world's 
population and of its area, we may turn to 
the interesting feature of density of population 
in various parts of the world : this is illustrated 
in No. 3. 

Each of the seven squares in No. 3 repre- 
sents one square mile, and the little dots in 
the squares represent the number of persons 
to each square mile of the continents named. 
At last Europe leads — and easily. The 
mighty Asia, which has held first place in 
Nos. 1 and 2, has now to make way for 
Europe with her 95 persons to the square mile. 
We see that Asia has to each of its square 
miles of area only about one-half the popula- 
tion which live upon a European square mile. 
Africa, a long way behind, is third with 15 
persons to the mile, and America has only 8 
inhabitants upon each square mile. Australia 
comes last with the ample allowance of one 
square mile (approximately) for each member 
of its population. 

Digitized by Google 

• • 


■ • 




• # 




# • 


* • 



• • 


• « 


• # 



• • 






• m 



• • 




% • 

• • 

• • 



• • 



• • 


• • • • • * 

# • • 

I.— Europe ; 95 persons to 
the square mile. 

II.— Asia : 48 persons to 
the square mile. 

s • 

III.— Africa : 15 persons to 
the square mile. 

IV.— America: 8 persons 
to the square mile. 

V.— Oceanic Islands and Polar 

Regions : 3 persons to the 

square mile. 

VI.— Australia: 1 person to 
the square mile. 

The World : 28 persons to 
the square mile. 

No. 3.— These seven squares show the Density of Population 
of the World : illustrated by the number of persons to each 
square mile of the various continents, ej£. 

We may with advantage look at these facts 
in another way. The space for each 
person : — 

In Europe is 7 acres. 

„ Asia is 13 » 

„ Africa is 44 »i 

„ America is ..... 78 „ 

„ Oceanic Islands and Polar Regions is . . 210 „ 

„ Australia is 589 ?i 

„ the World is 23 »» 

[It should be noted that th^ number of 
persons stated beneath each of the squares in 
No. 3 is the nearest whole number, and 
similarly with the number of acres just given : 
therefore, if 640 — «., the number of acres in 
a square mile — be divided by each of the 
numbers given in No. 3, the results will not 
in every case bring out the results just 
tabulated, and which are based upon my 
original working figures in decimals.] 




This way of looking at the facts con- 
cerning density of population shows us that 
there is still ample room in the world for all 
of us, wherever we may chance to be located. 
The over-crowding of which we hear so 
much disappears when we take an extended 
view of the facts, which seem to invite us to 
spread ourselves out more than we do. 

And now may come in the results of some 
calculations I have very carefully made as 
regards the future growth of the population 
of the world, and as to the year ad. when 
our descendants will have so increased in 
number that there will then be only one 
acre for each person in the world, instead of 
the 23 acres mentioned above. 

As a preliminary, I went into all the avail- 
able facts upon which to compute the annual 
rate of increase in the world's population, 
and finally I determined that the rate of 
increase might be taken at 5 per 1,000 
persons per annum : this means that for 
every one million persons living in 1891, 
there were : — 

In 1892 1,005,000 persons. 

,, 1893 1,010,025 „ 

„ "894 1,015,075 „ 

.1 1895 1,020,150 „ 

etc., etc. 

And the results for the future population of 
the world work out thus : — 

In 1891 1,480 million persons. 

,, 1000 there will be 1.548 ,, ,, 

.» '95o „ 1.9S6 „ „ 

„ 2000 „ „ 2.543 „ „ 

m 203° i» »» 2,9to ,, „ 

m «oo „ „ 4,i97 it 11 

,, 2200 ,, M 6,910 „ „ 

„ 2300 „ „ ./. u,379 »» it 

„ 2400 „ „ 18,738 „ „ 

>. 251 » m n 33.4»3 „ „ 

»» 2517 tt „ 33.586 „ „ 

These figures show us, for example, that in 
a.d. 2030, the 1 89 1 population will have 
doubled itself, and will have taken 139 years 
to do it in. The population of the United 
Kingdom has doubled itself in 80 years, and 
the population of England and Wales in 57 
years ; but we should be quite wide of the 
mark if we applied our own rate of annual 
increase to the population of the world — for 
our rate of increase is above the average. In 
France, for example, the increase of popula- 
tion is very slow ; in fact, but for the 
attractions it offers to foreigners as a 
residence, its population would of late years 
have shown a falling off, because, while the 
births decrease, the deaths increase. 

I may also point out that the above figures 
show us that between a.d. 2516 and a.d. 
2517 — 621 years later than this present year, 
1895 — there will be in the world as many 
people as there are acres ; there being 33,482 
million acres of land, a number which, as we 

■lized by Google 


Vw ifr?i , 1* ***** *»*»— A»-h*»*g5> 

\* 1*41, X^ ***** fc ->*Av frwity*^ 

*V «fl**-«f^, IT ** t~~ fr* jgJx |lVH« 

*hx, |9*Y-«8 # *2L±J*^L±s±**£*l&&* 


>* *-+ 3^-3fc, ll Aou^ t±±^Jk^^i 

>V LC^-l.lOO.8 OLQUO fe_±j>M )j~***. 



^vl^ii-n, I a-ou. (*. 

)uUrW, . 

No. 4. — For explanation .see text. 

see, falls between the last two numbers in the 

above column. 

But perhaps the best way to illustrate the 
Origin a rfrom 




future growth of the world's 
population is to show it as 
in No. 4, where we see the 
gradual lopping-off of acre 
after acre from the 25 
acres which were the space 
for each person in the year 
187 1, until, at the expiration 
of 621 years from now, only 
one acre will be available for 
each person. The dot in 
the centre of each of these 
diminishing estates (except 
two) represents the gradu- 
ally thinning owner, who is 
wise enough to lessen his 
requirements — and his bulk 
— as his estate grows smaller 
and smaller; the two little 
figures in the top and 
bottom " estates " suggest 
a possible change of owner- 
ship during the 645 years of 
change to which the ten 
diagrams in No. 4 relate — 
Le. y from a.d. 187 i to a.d. 
2516. Long before this 
latter date our descendants 
will probably be living in 
the air, or perhaps in the 
sea for a change, so that 
the lessening of space, illus- 
trated in No. 4, will not 
cause real inconvenience. 
Moreover, as we shall see 
when dealing with Nos. 5 
and 6, one acre for one 
person is not a bad allow- 
ance. Belgium is now very 
nearly as crowded as this, 
and she yet finds room for 
all her manufactories and 
works, not to mention the 
ground-space of the recent 
Antwerp Exhibition. 

As regards this diving 
into the future by aid of 
logarithms, the results of 
which procedure have now 
been shown in No. 4, etc., 
I may say that my estimate 
of the annual growth of the 
world's population (5 per 
1,000) is probably some- 
what lower than the actual 
rate — I have preferred to 
err on the side of modera- 
tion. If my estimate be 
approximately correct, and 

No. 5.— These ten circles show the Popula- 
countries here specified. The areas contained 



Europe split up 'into the various 

in these ten circles respectively illustrate the 
bulk of the various populations— not the sizes 
of the land-areas of the countries named. 

I venture to think it will 
be so considered by statis- 
ticians, then the results I 
have deduced from it follow 
as a mathematical necessity 
— startling as some of them 
may appear. Astronomers, 
who have the advantage of 
dealing with facts less com- 
plex than are social facts, 
predict to a second, many 
years prior to the occur- 
rence of an event, when 
this or that transit or 
eclipse will take place. It 
is no unusual thing to 
predict the results of this c 
that census, ahd to find the 
prediction closely akin to 
the ascertained results ; and 
similarly with many other 
matters — life assurance, for 
example — in which a mathe- 
matical forecast is often 
ultimately proved by ascer- 
tained facts to have been 
expressed within relatively 
close limits of error. In the 
present instance, although 
the basis for calculation 
is not nearly so stable as 
in some other channels of 
statistics, it is yet suffi 
ciently sound to make the 
diagrants in No. 4 worthy 
of attention, as a predic- 
tion of the future popula- 
tion of the world — neces- 
sarily, a factor of vast 
international range and 
social importance. 

In No. 5 we have a 
graphic illustration of the 
population of the principal 
European countries. The 
area contained by each of 
the nine smaller circles 
represents the numerical 
bulk of each of the popula- 
tions stated ; and as these 
circles have been drawn 
to mathematical scale, the 
combined areas of them 
equal in size the area of the 
large circle at the bottom 
of No. 5. Here is a concise 
statement of the facts : for 
every one thousand persons 
in Europe there are : — 

by L^OOgle 

Original from 



In European Russia 26a persons. 

„ the German Empire 139 „ 

„ Austria- Hungary 1x6 f , 

„ Franc* 107 „ 

„ Great Britain and Ireland 106 „ 

„ Italy 84 „ 

„ Spam 48 M 

„ Belgium 17 „ 

„ Other Parts of Europe xax „ 

Europe x,ooo ,, 

The eight countries named are those which 
contain the largest populations. Turkey, 
without Bulgaria, has fewer people than 
Belgium, and, moreover, Belgium is a very 
industrious and worthy little country, and 
more entitled to a place than Turkey; so 
Turkey must be included in " Other Parts of 

"it is rather interesting to look at the first 
six circles — the leading six Powers of Europe 
— and to note that whilst the United King- 
dom comes last but one as regards popula- 
tion, she yet holds her own in the very front 
rank as regards power. 

Illustration No. 6 has been calculated 
after the fashion of No. 3, and upon the 
same scale. It shows to us the density of 
population in the various European countries 
to which it relates. Here, Belgium heads 
the list with 536 persons supported upon 
every square mile of the country. As there 
are 640 acres in a square mile, we see 
that the inhabitants of Belgium have 
each of them, upon the average, very 
little more than one acre of space — see 
my remarks about No. 4. When we look at 
this top square of No. 6, we are not 
surprised that Belgium is essentially a 
manufacturing country — it simply has not the 
room for extensive agricultural industries. 
In every available hole and corner the 
Belgians busy themselves with agriculture — 
they don't waste space as we do in England 
— and although agriculture is carried on with 
much industry, the Belgians — like ourselves 
— are largely dependent upon foreign supplies 
for their food. 

I have put in all these dots very carefully 
in order to let each square show by the 
number of dots inside it the density of 
population to each square mile of the 
countries specified : in this way we get a 
clear idea of the different degrees of density 
of population of the European divisions — a 
clearer picture than figures can show to us. 

For the rest, this No. 6 can very well 
speak for itself : it has been calculated upon 
sound facts, and it exactly represents these 

After Europe comes Asia — in point of 
interest — old Asia, older even than Europe 
in its quaint manners and fashions of men 

Digitized by GoOglC 


BELGIUM i nj»kM^ 


ITALY : 2-T5K****-* 



COL til 



SPAIN : 3o_te*~» g 



ALL EUROPE : yS*q»« 
jE "fa- *d~T~- ***** I 

No. 6. — These ten souares show the Density of Population 
in Europe : illustrated ny the number of persons, i.e., dots, to 
each square mile of the various countries named. 

and things. But how incomparable with 
Western Europe is Asia of the 19th century ! 
Asia is, for the main part (China), hopelessly 
conservative, and we have had a rectnt 
illustration of how modern progress may 
enable a little nation like the Japanese 
Empire to get the better of an old nation 




nearly nine times as populous. The China- 
man shows to us the abuse of Conservr.tism 
in the East as plainly as we have seen the 
abuse of Liberalism in the West. 

Compare, in No. 7, the short line (3) 
which illustrates the population of Japan, 
with the long line (1), which shows the popu- 
lation of China : the comparison makes us 
feel almost incredulous as to the success in 
the war of Japan over China — so great is the 
difference. And look, too, at the line (6) 
that shows the population of Corea, about 
which place China and Japan are fighting. 

It should be noted that if the lines 
marked (1) to (15) be ticked off with 
a pencil on a piece of paper from No. 
7, the total length of these fifteen lines 
will exactly equal the length of line 
(16), which represents the population 
of all Asia* 

We see the distribution of Asia's 
population rather significantly in the 
following figures. For every one thou- 
sand persons in Asia there are : — 

In China Proper 424 persons. 

„ British India 337 f , 

,, the Japanese Empire 48 ,, 

„ the East Indian Islands 48 „ 

„ French India 23 „ 

„ Corea 13 „ 

„ Siam 11 „ 

„ British Burmah 9 „ 

„ Persia 9 „ 

„ Russian Central Asia and Turkestan 9 „ 

„ Siberia. S „ 

„ Afghanistan 5 „ 

„ Ceylon . 4 „ 

„ Arabia 3 „ 

„ Other Parts of Asia 52 „ 

Asia 1,000 „ 

British India is the only division of 
Asia that as regards population comes 
anywhere near China, and these two 
divisions combined absorb more than 
three-quarters of the whole of Asia's 
people- The quality of the Japanese 
stands out in favourable contrast with 
the quality of the Chinese when 
compare lines (i) and (3) in No. 7, 
then note that there are in Asia 
Chinamen for every 48 Japs. 

I have not the space to deal with 
America and with Africa as I have dealt 
with Europe and with Asia, so these two 
continents must go without more notice 
than has already been given to them in 
Nos. 1, 2, and 3. I pass to No. 8, which 
shows in black and white the face of 
the world (I.), with the population of 
the British Empire omitted. What a 
gap it makes ! The face of the world 
!ooks rather pale with the British 
Empire missing. In II. of No. 8 I 

lation that I have cut out from I. The 
whole of this No. 8 has been calcu- 
lated upon the same scale as illustra- 
tion No. 1 (which see), and so we 
get here a good picture of the part 
that is played by the British Empire 
in the game of the world's popula- 
tion : an Empire which is nearly 
three times as large as Europe, almost 
as large as Africa, and which com- 
prises more than a fifth part of the 
land-surface of the whole globe. We 
see in III. of No. 8 the little black 


i/> %k> o>tva irxfaX'T* «$> <y> oco vt> </o <*&> </«*> tr& a 4> 

No. 7.— These sixteen vertical lines show the Population of Asia split up 
c nnw r h#a nioro r\f th* w^rl/Vc nnnn into the countries here specified. The lengths of these sixteen vertical lines 
Snow trie piCCe Ot the WOrldS popU- resi>ective!yUlustme the sire* o^he^ 

by L^OOgle 




L— The FtrpolAtiftTl of tb* VVnrtd ll n 4#"J million bvrflonfl- 
with tii* Btitiili E till Hiri*— 3731 nnVli<'Ti»- " irsisaing. 

1L— The Pollution of the British Empire . ,77 if million pencraft 

county. They could be tucked away down in 
Radnorshire, by a little squeezing, and leave 
all the rest of the world empty. Even the 
Isle of Man would hold nearly one-half of 
the world's population at one person to the 
square yard. 

This fighting, struggling, white, black and 
tan, good and bad, very much mixed 
population of 1,480 millions could he packed 
in a cubic box measuring only 1,140 yards in 
width, 1,140 yards in depth, and 1,140 yards 
in height — see No. 9* Each person could 
be allowed 27 cubic feet of room inside 
such a box, and the box itself could 
be deposited when full in Battersea Park 
fi«. 1) with a squeeze, in Victoria Park with ample 
room to spare, or in Hyde Park and not 
occupy much more than one-third of the 
ground-space of that park— and Mr, Chase, 
the cyclist, again, could, if left outside, run 
round the box containing the world's popu- 
lation in about six minutes for the 2}4 miles ; 
or, a person accidentally left unpacked — one 
of the two shown in No. 9, for example — 
could stroll round the box and inspect it in 
one hour easily. This is a literal and solid 
fact which can be readily proved — startling as 
it may seem to show in No* 9 a packing- 
case amply large enough to hold every- 
body in the world — a packing-case which, 
although a large one, would not occupy 
nearly one-half the ground-space of Hyde 
Park, London. 

A fact like this serves to illustrate the 
really trifling importance of the world's 
population ett masse, and, incidentally, the 
utter insignificance of the individuals who 
compose it. 

j > ■v. v ^ 

lit —The Population of the United Kingdom : 3Tf million pemms. 
No. 8. — A comparison in black and white* 

square, showing the population of the United 
Kingdom — which little square practically 
" bosses " the great square above it. These 
three squares, and their relative sizes, seem 
to emphasize the necessity of always maintain- 
ing the third square (III. Population of the 
United Kingdom) at the highest degree of 
harmonious density and unity of the 
particles that go to compose it 

And now let us see what a really in- 
significant body is this population of I 
the world. For example, every living 
person could be contained in a square 
common less than twenty - two miles 
each way; each person of the 1,480 
millions could have a square yard to 
stand on ; and Mr. A, A, Chase or some 
other expert cyclist con Id be left out- 
side with his machine, and ride round 
the square containing the world's popu- 
lation in about 3^ hours for the 87^ 
miles of boundary fence. Or the 1,480 
million persons could each occupy a square Na ^_ A cubk packing 
yard of standing room in Bedfordshire uvrid less iwn persons— 1 '!, 4G0 million: 1 
and then fill up only two-thirds of that ^^fn^t^^^c^^^ 



niiu Lis 2. This 

by Google 

Original from 

Stories from the Diary of a Doctor. 


By L. T. Meade and Clifford Halifax, M,D. 

[These stories are written in collaboration with a medical man of large experience. Many are founded on fact, and all are 
iwithin the rrjjion of practical medical science. Those stories which may convey an idea of the impossible are only a forecast of an 
early realization J 


PLEASURE yacht, of the 
name of Ariadne^ was about 
to start upon a six - weeks' 
cruise. The time of the year 
was September — a golden, 
typical September- in the year 
of grace 1893, The Ariadne was to touch 
at several of the great northern ports: Chris- 
tiania, St. Petersburg, and others, I had 
just gone through a period of hard and 
anxious work. I found it necessary to take 
a brief holiday, arid resolved to secure a berth 
on board the Ariadne f and so give myself a 
time of absolute rest We commenced our 
voyage on the second of the month ; the day 
was 11 lovely one, and every berth on board 
had secured an occupant. 

We were all in high spirits, and the 
weather was so fine that scarcely anyone 
suffered from sea-sickness, In consequence, 
the young ship's doctor, Maurice Curwen, 
hatl scarcely anything to do. 

The passengers on 
board the Ariadne were, 
with one exception, of the 
most ordinary and con- 
ventional type, but a girl 
who was carried on board 
just before the yacht 
commenced her voyage 
aroused my professional 
sympathies from the first. 
She was a tall, dark-eyed 
girl of about eighteen or 
nineteen years of age — 
her lower limbs were evi- 
dently paraly/ed, and she 
was accompanied by a 
nurse who wore the pic- 
turesque uniform of the 
Charing Cross Hospital. 

The young girl was 
taken almost immediately 
to a deck cabin which had 
been specially arranged 
for her, and during the 
first two or three days of 
our voyage I had not an 
opportunity of seeing her 
ag?in- When we reached 
the smooth waters of the 
Norwegian fiords, how- 
ever, she was carried 

3 y Google 


almost every day on deck. Here she lay 
under an awning, speaking to no one, and 
apparently taking little interest either in 
her fellow- passengers or in the marvellous 
beauties of Nature which surrounded her. 

Her nurse usually sat by her side — she 
was a reserved-looking, middle-aged woman, 
with a freckly face and thin, sandy hair. Her 
lips were perfectly straight in outline and 
very thin, her eyebrows were high and faintly 
marked —altogether, she had a disagreeable 
and thoroughly unsympathetic appearance. 

I was not long on board the Ariadne 
before I was informed that the sick girl's 
name was Dagmar Sorensen — that she was 
the daughter of a rich city merchant, and was 
going to St. Petersburg to see her father's 
brother, who was a celebrated physician there. 
One morning, on passing Miss Soren sen's 
cabin, my footsteps were arrested by hearing 
the noise of something falling within the 
room. There came to my ears the crash of 
broken glass. This was 
immediately followed by 
the sound of rapid foot- 
steps which as suddenly 
stopi>ed, as though the 
inmate of the room was 
listen ing intently. Miss 
Sorensen's nurse, who 
went by the name of Sis- 
ter Hagar, was probably 
doing something for her 
patient, and was annoyed 
at anyone pausing near 
the door, I passed on 
quickly, but the next 
moment, to my astonish- 
ment, came face to face 
with Sister Hagar on the 
stairs, i could not help 
looking at her in surprise. 
I was even about to speak, 
but she hurried past me, 
wearing her most dis- 
agreeable and repellent 

What could the noise 
have been ? Who could 
have moved in the cabin ? 
Miss Sorensen's lower 
limbs were, Curwen, our 
shin's doctor, had assured 

Original fre 



me, hopelessly paralyzed. She was intimate 
with no one on board the Ariadne.. What 
footsteps had I listened to ? 

I thought the matter over for a short time, 
then made up my mind that the stewardess 
must have been in Miss Sorensen's cabin, 
and having come to this conclusion, I forgot 
all about the circumstance. 

That afternoon I happened to be standing 
in the neighbourhood of the young lady's 
deck chair ; to my surprise, for she had not 
hitherto taken the least notice of me, she 
suddenly raised her full, brilliant dark eyes, 
and fixed them on my face. 

" May I speak to you ? " she said. 

I came up to her side immediately. 

II Certainly," I answered. " Can I do any- 
thing for you ? " 

"You can do a great deal if you will," she 
answered. " I have heard your name : you 
are a well-known London physician." 

" I have a large practice in London," I 
replied to her. 

"Yes," she continued, "I have often heard 
of you — you have doubtless come on board 
the Ariadne to take a holiday ? " 

" That is true," I answered. 

"Then it is unfair " She turned her 

head aside, breaking off her speech abruptly. 

" What is unfair ? " I asked. 

" I have a wish to consult you profession- 
ally, but if you are taking a holiday, it is unfair 
to expect you to give up your time to me." 

" Not at all," I replied. " If I can be of 
the slightest use to you, pray command me ; 
but are you not under Curwen's care ? " 

" Yes, oh, yes ; but that doesn't matter." 
She stopped speaking abruptly ; her manner, 
which had been anxious and excited, became 
suddenly guarded — I looked up and saw the 
nurse approaching us. She carried a book 
and shawl in her hands. 

"Thank you, Sister Hagar," said Miss 
Sorensen. " I shall not require your services 
any more for the present." 

The nurse laid the shawl over the young 
lady's feet, placed the book within reach, 
and, bestowing an inquisitive glance on me, 
walked slowly away. 

When she was quite out of sight, Miss 
Sorensen resumed her conversation. 

" You see that I am paralyzed," she said. 

1 bowed an acknowledgment of this all- 
patent fact. 

" I suffer a good deal," she continued. " I 
am on my way to St. Petersburg to see my 
uncle, who is a very great physician. My 
father is most anxious that I should consult 
him. Perhaps you know my uncle's name — 

Vol. ix.-21. 

Professor Sorensen ? He is one of the doctors 
of the Court." 

" I cannot recall the name just now," I 
said ; " but that is of no consequence. I 
have no doubt he is all that you say." 

" Yes, he is wonderfully clever, and holds 
a high position. It will be some days before 
we get to Russia, however, and — I am ill. 
I did not know when I came oa board the 
Ariadne that a doctor of your professional 
eminence would be one of the passengers. 

Perhaps Mr. Curwen will not object " 

She paused. 

" I am sure he will not object to having a 
consultation with me over your case," I 
answered. " If you wish it, I can arrange 
the matter with him." 

" Thank you — but — I don't want a con- 
sultation. My wish is to see you — alone." 

I looked at her in surprise. 

" Don't refuse me," she said, in a voice of 

" I will see you with pleasure with Curwen," 
I said. 

" But I want to consult you independently." 

"I am sorry," I answered ; " under the 
circumstances, that is impossible." 

She coloured vividly. 

" Why so ? " she asked. 

" Because professional etiquette makes it 
necessary for the doctor whom you have 
already consulted to be present," I replied. 

Her eyes flashed angrily. 

" How unkind and queer you doctors are," 
she said. " I cordially hate that sentence for 
ever on your lips, ' Professional etiquette.' 
Why should a girl suffer and be ill, because 
of anything so unreasonable ? " 

" You must forgive me," I said. " I would 
gladly do anything for you ; I will see you 
with pleasure with Curwen." 

"Must he be present ? " 

" Yes." 

" I cannot stand this. If he consents to 
your seeing me alone, have you any objection 
to make?" 

At that moment Curwen suddenly appeared. 
He was talking to one of the ship's crew, and 
they were both slowly advancing in Miss 
Sorensen's direction. 

" Mr. Curwen, can I speak to you ? " called 
out Miss Sorensen. 

He came to her at once. 

I withdrew in some annoyance, feeling 
pretty well convinced that the young lady 
was highly hysterical and required to be care- 
fully looked after. 

By-and-by, as I was standing by the deck 
rail, Curwen came up to me. 




" I have talked to Miss Sorensen," he said 
11 She is most anxious to consult you, Dr + 
Halifax, but says that you will not see her 
except in consultation with me. I beg of 
you not to consider me for a moment. I take 
an interest in her, poor girl, and will be only 
too glad to get your opinion of her case. 
Pray humour her in this matter," 

"Of course, if you have no objection, I 
have none," I answered. u I can talk to you 
about her afterwards. She is evidently highly 

*' I fear that is the case," replied Curwen. 
" But," he added, "there is little doubt as to 
her ailment* 
The lower limbs 
are paralyzed ; 
she is quite in- 
capable of using 

"Did you 
examine her 
carefully when 
she came on 
board?" I 

M I went into 
the case, cer- 
tainly/ 7 replied 
Curwen ; " but 
if you mean tha" 
I took every 
step to com- 
plete the diag- 
nosis of the 
patient's con- 
dition, I did 
not consider it 
necessary. The 
usual symp^ 
toms were pre- 
sent. In short, 
Miss Sorensen \s 
case was, to my 
mind, very 
clearly defined to be that of spastic paralysis, 
and I did not want to worry her by useless 

** Well, 1 will see her, as she wishes for my 
opinion," I replied, slowly. 

u I am very pleased that you should do so/ 5 
said Curwen. 

M Do you happen to have an electric battery 
on board ? " I asked, 

11 Yes, a small one, but doubtless sufficient 
for your purpose. Will you arrange to see 
Miss Sorensen to morrow morning? 71 

11 Yes/' I answered. "If I am to do her 
any good, there is no use in delay." 

Curwen and I talked the matter over a 
little further, then he was obliged to leave me 
to attend to some of his multifarious dudes. 

The nightly dance had begun — awnings 
had been pulled down all round the deck, 
and the electric light made the place as 
bright as day, The ship's band was playing 
a merry air, and several couples were already 
revolving round in the mazes of the waltz* 

I looked to see if Miss Sorensen had 
come on deck. Yes, she was there \ she was 
lying as usual on her own special couch. 
The captain's wife, Mrs, Ross, was seated 
near her, and Captain Ross stood at the 


foot of her couch. She was dressed in 
dark, rose-coloured silk* worn high to the 
throat, and with long sleeves. The whiteness of 
her complexion and the gloomy depths of her 
big, dark eyes were thus thrown into strong 
relief. She looked strikingly handsome* 

On seeing me, Captain Ross called me up, 
and introduced me to Miss Sorensen, She 
smiled at me in quite a bright way. 

" Dr, Halifax and I have already made 
each other's acquaintance/' she said. She 
motioned me to seat myself by her side. 
The conversation, which had been animated 
before 1 joiB^dqthelKtClenpartv, was now con- 




tinued with verve. Miss Sorensen, quite con- 
trary to her wont, was the most lively of the 
group. I observed that she had considerable 
powers of repartee, and that her conversa- 
tional talent was much above the average. 
Her words were extremely well chosen, and 
her grammar was invariably correct. She 
had, in short, the bearing of a very accom- 
plished woman. I further judged that she 
was a remarkably clever one, for I was 
not five minutes in her society before I 
observed that she was watching me with as 
close attention as I was giving to her. 

After a time Captain and Mrs. Ross with- 
drew, and I found myself alone with the 
young lady. 

"Don't go," she said, eagerly, as I was 
preparing to rise from my chair. " I spoke 
to Mr. Curwen," she continued, dropping her 
voice; " he has not the slightest objection to 
your seeing me alone. Have you arranged 
the matter with him ? " 

" I have seen him," I replied, gravely. 
" He kindly consents to waive all ceremony. 
I can make an appointment to see you at 
any hour you wish." 

" Pray let it be to-morrow morning — I am 
anxious to have relief as soon as possible." 

"I am sorry that you suffer," I replied, 
giving her a sudden, keen glance — "you 
don't look ill, at least not now." 

" I am excited now," she answered. " I 
am pleased at the thought " 

She broke off abruptly. 

" Is Sister Hagar on deck ? " she asked. 

" I do not see her," I replied. 

" But look, pray, look. Dr. Halifax— I 
fear Sister Hagar." 

There was unquestionable and most 
genuine terror in the words. Miss Sorensen 
laid her hand on mine — it trembled. 

I was about to reply, when a thin voice, 
almost in our ears, startled us both. 

"Miss Sorensen, I must take you to bed 
now," said Nurse Hagar. 

" Allow me to help you, nurse," I said, 
starting up. 

" No, thank you, sir," she answered, in her 
most disagreeable way ; " I can manage my 
young lady quite well alone." 

She went behind the deck-chair, and pro- 
pelled it forward. When she got close to the 
little deck cabin, she lifted Miss Sorensen up 
bodily in her strong arms, and conveyed her 
within the cabin. 

During the night I could not help giving 
several thoughts to my new patient — she 
repelled me quite as much as she attracted 
me. She was without doubt a very hand- 

some girl. There was something pathetic, 
too, in her dark eyes and in the lines round 
her beautifully curved mouth ; but now and 
then I detected a ring of insincerity in her 
voice, and there were moments when her 
eyes, in spite of themselves, took a shifty 
glance. Was she feigning paralysis? What 
was her motive in so anxiously desiring an 
interview with me alone ? 

Immediately after breakfast, on the fol- 
lowing morning, Sister Hagar approached 
my side. 

"Miss Sorensen would be glad to know 
when it would be convenient for you to see 
her, Dr. Halifax," she said. 

" Pray tell her that I can be with her in 
about ten minutes," I replied. 

The nurse withdrew and I went to find 

" Is your electric battery in order ? " I 

" Come with me to my cabin," he replied. 

I went with him at once. We examined 
the battery together, put it into order, and 
then tested it. I took it with me to Miss 
Sorensen's cabin. Sister Hagar stood near 
the door. She came up to me at once, took 
the battery from my hands, and laid it on a 
small table near the patient. She then, to 
my astonishment, withdrew, closing the door 
noiselessly behind her. 

I turned to look at Miss Sorensen, and saw 
at a glance that she was intensely nervous. 
There was not a trace of colour on her face ; 
even her lips were white as death. 

" Pray get your examination over as quickly 
as you can," she said, speaking in an almost 
fretful voice. 

" I am waiting for the nurse to return," I 
replied. " I have several questions to ask 

"Oh, she is not coming back. I have 
asked her to leave us together." 

" That is nonsense," I said ; " she must 
be present. I cannot apply the electric 
battery without her assistance. If you will 
permit me, I will call her." 

" No, no, don't go — don't go ! " 

I looked fixedly at my patient. Suddenly 
an idea occurred to me. 

I pushed the table aside on which the 
battery had been placed, and stood at the 
foot of Miss Sorensen's bed. 

"The usual examination need not take 
place," I said, " because " 

" Why ? " she asked. She half started up 
on her couch ; her colour changed from white 
to red. 

Because you are not paralyzed ! " I said, 




giving her a sudden, quick glance, and speak- 
ing with firmness. 

il My God, how do you know ? " she ex- 
claimed* Her face grew so colourless that 1 
thought she would faint. She covered her 
eyes with one trembling hand. "Oh, Sister 
Hagar was right/ 1 she continued* after a 
moment. - 1 1 did not believe her — I assured 
her that it was nothing more than her fancy." 

" I have guessed the truth?*' I said, in 
a stern voice* 

"Alas, yes, you have guessed the truth." 
As she spoke, she sprang with a light move- 
ment from her couch and stood before me. 

"lam no more paralyzed than you are," 
she said ; " but how, how do you know ? " 


"Sit down and I will tell you/ 1 I replied. 

She did not sit— she was far too much 
excited She stood near the door of her 
little cabin, " Did you really hear the bottle 
fall and break, yesterday morning?" 

" I heard a noise which might be accounted 
for in that way," I answered. 

11 And did you hear my footsteps ? 5J 

" I heard footsteps." 

" Sister Hagar said that you knew — I 

hoped, I hoped— I earnestly trusted that she 
was wrong." 

" How could she possibly tell ? " I replied. 
"I met her on the stairs coming towards the 
cabin. I certainly said nothing — -how was it 
possible for her to read my secret thoughts?" 
"It was quite possible. She saw the 
knowledge in your eyes ; she gave you one 
glance— that was sufficient. Oh! I hoped 
she was mistaken," 

" Mine is not a tell-tale face/' I said. 
" Not to most people, but it is to her, 
You don't know hen She is the most 
wonderful, extraordinary woman that ever 
breathed. She can read people through 
and through. She can stand behind you 
and know when your 
eyes flash and your lips 
smile. Her knowledge 
is terrible. She can 
almost see through 
stone walls, I told you 
last night that I dreaded 
her — I do more than 
that— I fear her horribly 
—she makes my life a 
daily purgatory ! " 

"Sit down," I said, 
in a voice which I made 
on purpose both cold 
and stern : " it is very 
bad for you to excite 
yourself in this way. If 
you dislike Sister Hagar, 
why is she your nurse ? 
In short, what can be 
your possible motive for 
going through this extra 
ordinary act of decep- 
tion ? Are you not aware 
that you are acting in a 
most reprehensible 
manner ? Why do you 
wish the passengers of 
the AHadnt to suppose 
you to be paralyzed, 
when you are in reality 
in perfect health ? ?? 
"In perfect health? ' 
she repeated, with a shudder. "Yes, I am 
doubtless in perfect bodily health, but I am 
in — oh, in such bitter anguish of soul." 
" What do you mean ? n 
"I can no more tell you that, than I can 
tell you why I am in Sister Hagar' s power. 
Pray forget my wild words. I know you 
think badly of me, but your feelings would be 
changed to profound pity if you could guess 
the truth. WWlMaitfrlfaB"! me— I have only a 




moment or two left, for Sister Hagar will be 
back almost directly. She found out yester- 
day that you had guessed my secret. I 
hoped that this was not the case, but, as 
usual, she was right and I was wrong. The 
moment my eyes met yours, when I first came 
on deck, I thought it likely that you might see 
through my deception. Sister Hagar aLo 
feared that such would be the case. It was 
on that account that I avoided speaking to 
you, and also that I remained so silent and 
apparently uninterested in everyone when I 
went on deck. I asked for this interview 
yesterday for the express purpose of finding 
out whether you really knew about the 
deception which I was practising on everyone 
on board. If I discovered that you had 
pierced through my disguise, there was 
nothing for it but for me to throw myself on 
your mercy. Now you know why I was so 
desirous of seeing you without Mr. Curwen." 

" I understand," I answered. " The 
whole matter is most strange, wrong, and 
incomprehensible. Before I leave you, may 
I ask what motive influences you ? There 
must be some secret reason for such de- 
ception as you practise." 

Miss Sorensen coloured, and for the first 
time since she began to make her confession, 
her voice grew weak and faltering — her eyes 
took a shifty glance, and refused to meet 

" The motive may seem slight enough to 
you," she said; "but to me it is, and was, 
sufficiently powerful to make me go through 
with this sham. My home is not a happy 
one ; I have a step-mother, who treats me 
cruelly. I longed to get away from home 
and to see something of life. My father's 
brother, Professor Sorensen, of St Petersburg, 
is a very celebrated Court physician — my 
father is proud of him, and has often men- 
tioned his name and the luxurious palace in 
which he lives. I have never met him, but 
I took a curious longing to pay him a visit, 
and thought of this way of obtaining my 
desires. Professor Sorensen has made a 
special study of nervous diseases such as 
paralysis. Sister Hagar and I talked the 
matter over, and I resolved to feign this 
disease in order to get away from home and to 
pay my uncle a visit. All went well without 
hitch of any sort until yesterday morning." 

" But it is impossible for you to suppose," 
I said, " that you can take in a specialist like 
Professor Sorensen." 

" I don't mean to try — he'll forgive me 
when I tell him the truth, and throw myself 
on his mercy." 

" And is Sister Hagar a real nurse ? " I 
asked, after a pause. 

" No, but she has studied the part a little, 
and is for too clever to commit herself." 

Miss Sorensen's face was no longer pale — 
a rich colour flamed in her cheeks, her eyes 
blazed — she looked wonderfully handsome. 

" And now that you have confided in me," 
I said, " what do you expect me to do with 
my knowledge ? " 

"To respect my secret, and to keep it 
absolutely and strictly to yourself." 

" That is impossible — I cannot deceive 

" You must — you shalL Why should two 
— two be sacrificed ? And he is so young, 
and he knows nothing now — nothing. Oh, 
do have mercy on him ! Oh, my God, what 
wild words am I saying ? What mMst you 
think of me ? " 

She paused abruptly, her blazing eyes wer« 
fixed on my face. 

11 What must you think of me ? " she 

"That you are in a very excitable and 
over-strained condition, and perhaps not quite 
answerable for your actions," I replied. 

" Yes, yes," she continued ; "I am over- 
strained — over-anxious — not quite account- 
able — yes — that is it— that is it — but you will 
not tell Mr. Curwen — Oh, be merciful to me, 
I beg of you. We shall soon reach St. Peters- 
burg. Wait, at least, until we get there 
before you tell him — promise me that. Tell 
him then if you like — tell all the world, then, 
if you choose to do so, but respect my secret 
until we reach Russia." 

As Miss Sorensen spoke, she laid her hand 
on rtiy arm — she looked at me with a passion 
which seemed absolutely inadequate to her 
very poor reason for going through this extra- 
ordinary deception. 

"Promise me," she said — "there's Sister 
Hagar's knock at the door — let her in — but 
promise me first." 

" I will think the whole case over carefully 
before I speak to anyone about it," I replied. 
I threw the door open as I spoke, and went 
out of the little cabin as Sister Hagar came 

That afternoon Curwen asked me about 
Miss Sorensen — I replied to him briefly. 

" I will tell you all about the case," I said, 
" in a short time — there is a mystery which 
the young lady has divulged, and which she 
has earnestly implored of me to respect until 
we reach St. Petersburg." 

" Then you believe she can be cured ? " 
said Curwen. 




* £ Unquestionably — but it is a strange story, 
and it is impossible for me to discuss it until 
I can give you my full confidence. In the 
meantime, there is nothing to be done in the 
medical way for Miss Sorensen — I should re- 
commend her to keep on deck as much as 
possible- she is in a highly hysterical state, 
and the more fresh air she gets, the better/' 

Curwen was obliged to be satisfied with 
this very lame summary of the case, and the 
next time I saw Miss Sorensen, I bent over 
her and told her that I Intended to respect 
her secret until after we 
arrived at St. Petersburg, 

f * I don't know how to 
thank you enough," she said 
— her eyes flashed with joy, 
and she became instantly 
the most animated and fasci- 
nating woman on board, 

At last we reached the 
great northern port, and 
first amongst those to come 
on board the Ariadne was 
the tall and aristocratic form 
of Professor Sorensen* I 
happened to witness the 
meeting between him and 
his beautiful niece. He 
stooped down and kissed 
her on her white brow. A 
flush of scarlet spread all 
over her face as he did so* 
They spoke a few words 
together — then Sister Hagar 
came up and touched Miss 
Sorensen on her arm. The 
next moment I was re- 
quested to come and speak 
to the young lady. 

" May I introduce you to 
my uncle, Dr. Halifax ? " 
she said. 4t Professor Soren- 
sen — Dr Halifax. I can 
scarcely tell you, Uncle Oscar/' continued the 
young lady, looking full in his face, "how 
good Dr. Halifax has been to me during my 
voyage. " 

Professor Sorensen made a polite rejoinder 
to this, and immediately invited me to come to 
see him at his palace in the Nevski Prospect. 

I was about to refuse with all the politeness 
I could muster, when Miss Sorensen gave me 
a glance of such terrible entreaty that it 
staggered me, and almost threw me off my 

" You will come ; you must come/' she 

61 I can take no refusal," exclaimed the 


Professor. " I am delighted to welcome you 
as a brother in the great world of medical 
science. I have no doubt that we shall have 
much of interest to talk over together. My 
laboratory has the good fortune to be some- 
what celebrated, and I have made experiments 
in the cultivation of microbes which I should 
like to talk over with you. You will do me 
the felicity of dining with me this evening, 
Dr. Halifax?" 

I considered the situation briefly — I 
glanced again at Miss Sorensen, 

"I will come," I said — 
she gave a sigh of relief, and 
lowered her eyes. 

Professor Sorensen moved 
away, and Sister Hagar went 
into the young lady'n cabin 
to fetch something. For a 
moment Miss Sorensen and 
I were alone. She gave me 
an imperious gesture to 
come close to her. 

" Sit on that chair — stoop 
down, I don't want others 
to know," she said. 

I obeyed her in some 

u You have been good, 
more than good," she said, 
"and I respect you, I 
thank you from my heart. 
Do one last thing for me," 
"What is that?" 
u Don't tell our secret to 
Maurice Curwen until you 
have returned from dining 
with my uncle. Promise me 
this ; I have a very grave 
reason for asking it of you." 
" I shall probably not 
have time to tell him be- 
tween now and this even- 

said, " as I 


immediately to land and occupy 
looking over the place." 

At this moment Sister Hagar appeared, 
carrying all kinds of rugs and parcels — 
amongst them was a small, brass-bound box, 
which seemed to be of considerable weight. 
As she approached us, the nurse knocked 
her foot against a partition in the deck, 
stum bled , and would have fallen had I not 
rushed to her assistance. At the same time 
the heavy, brass-bound box fell with some 
force to the ground. The shock must have 
touched some secret spring, for the cover 
immediately bounced open and several 
packets of papeft a wflft n itrewn on the deck. 






I stooped to pick them up, but Nurse 
Hagar wrenched them from my hands with 
such force that I could not help glancing at 
her in astonishment, One packet had been 
thrown to a greater distance than the others. 
I reached back my hand to pick it up, and, 
as I did so, my eyes lighted on a name in 
small black characters on the coven The 
name was Olga KrestofskL Below it was 
something which looked like hieroglyphics, 
. but I knew enough of the Russian tongue to 
ascertain that it was the same name in 
Russ — with the figure 7 below it. 

I returned the packet to the nurse — she 
gave me a glance which I was destined to 
remember afterwards — and Miss Sorensen 
uttered a faint cry and turned suddenly white 
to her lips- 
Professor Sorensen came hastily up — he 
administered a restorative to his niece, and 
said that the excitement of seeing him had 
evidently been too much for her in her weak 
state. A moment later the entire party had 
left the yacht 

It was night when I got to the magnificent 
palace in the Nevski Prospect where Professor 
Sorensen resided, 

I was received with ceremony by several 
servants in handsome livery, and conducted 
immediately to a bedroom on the first floor 
of the building. The room was of colossal 
size and height 5 and a warm as the weather 

still was, was arti- 
ficially heated by 
pipes which ran 
along the walls. 
The hangings and 
all the other ap- 
pointments of this 
apartment were of 
the costliest, and as 
I looked around 
me, I could not 
help coming to the 
conclusion that a 
Court physician at 
St. Petersburg must 
hold a very lucra- 
tive position. 

Having already 
made my toilet, I 
was about to leave 
the room to find 
my way as best I 
could to the recep- 
tion-rooms on the 
ground floor, when, 
to my unbounded 
amazement* I saw 
the massive oak door of the chamber quickly 
and silently open, and Miss Sorensen, 
magnificently dressed, with diamonds in 
her black hair and flashing round her slim 
white throat, came in. She had not made 
the slightest sound in opening the door, 
and now she put her finger to her lips to 
enjoin silence on my part She closed the 
door gently behind her, and, coming up to 
my side, pressed a note into my hand. She 
then turned to go, 

(i What is the meaning of this? " I began. 
" The note will tell you, 3 * she replied, " Oh, 
yes, I am well, quite well — I have told my 
uncle all about my deception on board the 
Ariadne. For God's sake don't keep me 
now. If I am discovered, all is lost." 

She reached the door as she spoke, opened 
it with a deft, swift, absolutely silent move- 
ment, and disappeared. 

I could not tell why* but when I was left 
once more alone, I felt a chill running through 
me. I w f ent deliberately up to the oak door 
and turned the key in the heavy lock. The 
splendid bedroom was bright as day with 
electric light Standing by the door, I opened 
Miss Sorensetvs note, My horrified eyes fell 
on the following words : — 

li We receive no mercy, and we give none. 
Your doom was nearly fixed when you found 
out the secret of my false paralysis on board the 
Ariadne^ WW£\ fclt&flfllely and irre voca bly 





sealed when you saw my real name on the 
packet of letters which fell out of the brass- 
bound box to-day- The secret of my return 
to Russia is death to those who discover it 

"It is decreed by those who never alter or 
change that you do not leave this palace alive. 
It is utterly hopeless for you to try to escape, 
for on all hands the doors are guarded ; and 
even if you did succeed in reaching the 
streets, we have plenty of emissaries there to 
do our work for us. You know enough of our 
secrets to make your death desirable — it is 
therefore arranged that 701* are to die. I like 
you and pity you, I have a heart, and you 
have touched it. If I can, I will save you, 
I do this at the risk of my life, but that does 
not matter — we hold our lives cheap — we 
always carry them in our hands, and are ready 
to lay them down at any instant I may not 
succeed in saving you, but I will try. I am 
not quite certain how your death is to be 
accomplished, but I have a very shrewd 
suspicion of the manner in which the final 
attack on your life will be made. Your only 
chance— remember, your only chance of 
escape— is to appear to know absolutely 
nothing — to show not the ghost of a suspicion 
of any underhand practices ; to put forth all 
your powers to fascinate and please Professor 
Sorensen and the guests who will dine with 
us to night. Show no surprise at anything 
you see — ask no impertinent questions. I 
have watched you, and I believe you are 


clever enough 
and have suffi- 
cient nerve to act 
as I suggest. Pay 
me all the atten- 
tion in your 
power - — make 
love to me even 
a little, if you like 
— that will not 
matter, for we 
shall never meet 
again after to- 
night* After din- 
ner you will be 
invited to accom- 
pany Professor 
Sorensen to his 
laboratory — he 
will ask no other 
guest to do this. 
On no account 
refuse —go with 
hi til and I will go 
with you. Where 
he goes and where I go, follow without 
flinching. If you feel astonishment, do not 
show it. And now, all that I have said 
leads up to this final remark. Avoid the 
seventh step. Rear this in your mind — it 
is your last chance, — Dagmar." 

I read this note over twice. The terrible 
feeling of horror left me after the second 
reading. I felt braced and resolute, I 
suspected, what was indeed the case, that 
I had fallen unwittingly into a hornet's nest 
of Nihilists, How mad I had b^en to come 
to Professor Sorensen s palace! I had fully* 
made up my mind that Miss Sorensen had 
told me lies, when she gave me her feeble 
reasons for acting as she had done on board 
the Ariadne. No matter that now, however. 
She spoke the truth at last. The letter 
I crushed in my hand was not a He, I 
resolved to be wary, guarded -and when the 
final moment came, to sell my life dearly, 

I had a box of matches in my pocket. I 
burnt the note to white ash, and then crushed 
the ashes to powder under my foot I then 
went downstairs* 

Servants were standing about, who quickly 
directed me to the reception-rooms, A 
powdered footman flung the door of the great 
drawing-room o|>eii and called my name in a 
ringing voice. Professor Sorensen came for- 
ward to meet me, A lady came up at the 
same moment and held out her hand. She 
was dressed in black velvet, with rich lace and 
many magnificent diamonds. They shone in 




her sandy hair and glistened round her thin 
throat. I started back in amazement. Here 
was Sister Hagar metamorphosed. 

" Allow me to introduce my wife, Madame 
Sorensen," said the Professor. 

Madame Sorensen raised a playful finger 
and smiled into my face. 

" You look astonished, and no wonder, Dr. 
Halifax," she said. " But, ah, how naughty 
you have been to read our secrets." She 
turned away to speak to another guest. The 
next moment dinner was announced. 

As we sat round the dinner table, we made 
a large party. Men and women of many 
nationalities were present, but I quickly 
perceived, to my own surprise, that I was the 
guest of the evening. To me was given the 
terribly doubtful honour of escorting Madame 
Sorensen to the head of her table, and in 
honour of me also, English — by common 
consent — was the language spoken at dinner. 

Miss Sorensen sat a little to my left — she 
spoke gaily to her neighbour, and her ringing, 
silvery laugh floated often to my ears. 
There had been some little excitement caused 
by the bursting of a large bomb in one of 
the principal streets that evening. In- 
advertently I alluded to it to my hostess. 
She bent towards me and said, in a low 
voice : — 

" Excuse me, Dr. Halifax, but we never 
talk politics in Petersburg. " 

She had scarcely said this before she began 
to rattle off some brilliant opinions with 
regard to a novel which was just then attract- 
ing public attention in England. Her re- 
marks were terse, cynical, and intensely to 
the point. From one subject of interest to 
another she leaped, showing discernment, 
discrimination, and a wide and exhaustive 
knowledge of everything she touched upon. 

As I listened to her and replied as perti- 
nently as possible, a sudden idea came to 
me which brought considerable comfort with 
it. I began to feel more and more assured 
that Miss Sorensen's letter was but the ugly 
result of a mind thrown slightly off its 
balance. The brilliant company in which 
I found myself, the splendid room, the grace- 
fully appointed table, the viands and the 
wines of the best and the choicest, my 
cultivated and gracious hostess —Professor 
Sorensen's worn, noble, strictly intellec- 
tual face — surely all these things had 
nothing whatever to do with treachery 
and assassination ! Miss Sorensen's mind 
was off its balance. This fact accounted 
for everything — for the malingering which 
had taken place on board the Ariadne 


Vol. ix.-22. 

— for the queer letter which she had given to 
me before dinner. "When you saw my real 
name to~day, your doom was irrevocably 
sealed" she said. " Avoid the seventh step" 
she had continued. Could anything be 
more utterly absurd? Miss Sorensen was 
the acknowledged niece of my courtly host 
— what did she mean by attributing another 
name to herself? — what did she mean by 
asking me to avoid the seventh step? In 
short, her words were exactly like the ravings 
of a lunatic. 

My heart, which had been beating uncom- 
fortably high and strong, calmed down under 
these reflections, but presently a queer, cold, 
uncomfortable recollection touched it into 
fresh action as if with the edge of bare steel. 

It was all very well to dispose of Miss 
Sorensen by treating her wild words as the 
emanations of a diseased brain ; but what 
about Madame Sorensen ? How was I 
possibly to account for her queer change of 
identity? I recalled her attitude on board 
the Ariadne. The malevolent glances she 
had often cast at me. The look on her face 
that very morning when I had saved her 
from falling, and picked up the papers which 
had fallen out of the brass-bound box. She 
had seen my eyes rest upon the name "Olga 
Krestofski. ,, I could not soon forget the 
expression in her cold eyes when I returned 
her that packet. A thrill ran through me 
even now, as I recalled the vengeance of that 

The ladies withdrew, and the men of the 
party did not stay long over wine. We went 
to the drawing-rooms, where music and light 
conversation were indulged in. 

As soon as we came in, Miss Sorensen, 
who was standing alone in a distant part of 
the inner drawing-room, gave me a look 
which brought me to her side. There was an 
imperious sort of command in her full, dark 
eyes. She held herself very erect. Her car- 
riage was queenly — the lovely carnation of 
excitement bloomed on her cheeks and gave 
the finishing touch to her remarkable beauty. 
She made way for me to sit on the sofa beside 
her, and bending her head slightly in my 
direction, seemed to invite me to make love 
to her. 

There was something in her eyes which 
revived me like a tonic. 

I felt suddenly capable of rising to my 
terrible position, and resolved to play the 
game out to the bitter end. 

I began to talk to Miss Sorensen in a gay 
tone of light badinage,to which she responded 
with spirit 




Suddenly, as the conversation arose full 
and animated around us, she dropped her 
voice, gave me a look which thrilled me, and 
said, with slow distinctness : — 

" You Englishmen have pluck — I — I 
admire you ! " 

I answered, with a laugh, "We like to 
think of ourselves as a plucky race." 

" You are ! you are ! I felt sure you would 
be capable of doing what you are now doing. 
I^et us continue our conversation — nothing 
could be better for my purpose — don't you 
observe that Hagar is watching us ? " 

" Is not Madame Sorensen your aunt ? " I 

" In reality she is no relation ; but, huoh, 
you are treading on dangerous ground." 

" It is time for me to say farewell," I said, 
rising suddenly to my feet — I held out my 
hand to her as I spoke. 

" No, you must not go yet," she said — she 
rose also — a certain nervous hesitation was 
observable for a moment in her manner, but 
she quickly steadied herself. 

" Uncle Oscar, come here," she called out. 
Professor Sorensen happened to be approach- 
ing us across the drawing-room — he came up 
hastily at her summons. She stood in such 
a position that he could not see her face, and 
then gave me a look of intense warning. 

When she did this, I knew that the gleam 
of hope which had given me false courage 
for a moment during dinner was at an end. 
There was no insanity in those lovely eyes. 
Her look braced me, however. I determined 
to take example by her marvellous coolness. 
In short, I resolved to do what she asked me, 
and to place my life in her hands. 

" Uncle Oscar," said the young lady, 
" Dr. Halifax insists upon leaving us early ; 
that is scarcely fair, is it ? " 

" It must not be permitted, Dr. Halifax," 
said the Professor, in his most courteous 
tone. " I am looking forward with great 
interest to getting your opinion on several 
points of scientific moment." Here he drew 
me a little aside. I glanced at Miss Sorensen : 
she came a step or two nearer. 

" You will permit me to say that your 
name is already known to me," continued my 
host, "and I esteem it an honour to have 
the privilege of your acquaintance. I should 
like to get your opinion with regard to the 
bacterial theory of research. As I told 
you on board the Ariadne to-day, I have 
made many experiments in the isolation of 

" In short, the isolation of those little 
horrors is my uncle's favourite occupation," 

Digitized by GOOglc 

interrupted Miss Sorensen, with a light laugh. 
" Suppose, Uncle Oscar," she continued, lay- 
ing her lovely white hand on the Professor's 
arm — "suppose we take Dr. Halifax to the 
laboratory ? He can then see some of your 

"The cultivation of the cancer microbe, 
for instance," said Sorensen. " Ah, that we 
could discover something to destroy it in the 
human body, without also destroying life ! 
Well, doubtless, the time will come." He 
sighed as he spoke. His thoughtful face 
assumed an expression of keen intellectuality. 
It would be difficult to see anyone whose 
expression showed more noble interest in 

" I see all my guests happily engaged," he 
continued. "Shall we follow Dagmar's 
suggestion, then, and come to the laboratory, 
Dr. Halifax?" 

" I shall be interested to see what you have 
done," I said. 

We left the drawing-rooms. As we passed 
Madame Sorensen, she called out to me to 
know if I were leaving. 

" No," I replied ; " I am going with your 
husband to his laboratory. He has kindly 
promised to show me some of his experi- 

"Ah, then, I will say good -night, and 
farewell. When Oscar goes to the labora- 
tory he forgets the existence of time. Fare- 
well, Dr. Halifax." She touched my hand 
with her thin fingers ; her light eyes gave a 
queer, vindictive flash. " Farewell, or, au 
revoir, if you prefer it," she said, with a laugh. 
She turned abruptly to speak to another guest. 

To reach the laboratory we had to walk 
down more than one long corridor — it was in 
a wing at some little distance from the rest of 
the house. Professor Sorensen explained 
the reason briefly. 

"I make experiments," he said; "it is 
more convenient, therefore, to have the 
laboratory as distant from the dwelling-house 
as possible." 

We finally passed through a narrow covered 

" Beneath here flows the Neva," said the 
Professor; "but here," he continued, "did 
you ever see a more spacious and serviceable 
room for real hard work than this ? " 

He flung open the door of the laboratory 
as he spoke, and touching a button in the 
wall, flooded the place on the instant with a 
blaze of electric light. The laboratory was 
warmed with hot pipes, and contained, in 
addition to the usual appliances, a couple of 
easy chairs and one or two small tables; 
Original from 




also a long and particularly inviting-looking 

**I spend the night here occasionally/' said 
Dr. Sorensen. " When I am engaged in an 
important experiment, I often do not care to 
leave the place until the early hours of the 

We wandered about the laboratory, which 
was truly a splendid room and full of many 
objects which wouk\ on another 
occasion, have aroused all my scien- 
tific enthusiasm, but I was too in- 
tensely on my guard just now to pay 
much attention to the Professor's 
carefully worded and elaborate descrip- 
tions. My quick eyes had taken in 
the whole .situation as far as it was at 
present revealed to me : the iron 
bands of the strong door by which 
we had entered ; the isolation of the 
laboratory, 1 was young and strong, 
however, and Professor Sorensen was 
old. If it came to a hand-to-hand 
fjght, he would have no chance against 
me. Miss Sorensen , too, was my 

We spent some time examining 
various objects of interest, then find- 
ing the torture of suspense unen- 
durable, I said, abruptly : " I should 
greatly like to see your process of 
cultivation of the cancer microbes 
before I take my leave/' 

*' I will show it to you, ' said Dr. 
Sorensen. " Dagmar^ my love, light 
the lantern/ 1 

" Is it not here ? " I asked, 

14 No ; I keep it in an oven in a 
small laboratory, which we will now 

Miss Sorensen took up a silver- 
mounted lantern, applied a match to 
the candle within, and taking it in 
her hand, preceded us up the whole 
length of the laboratory to a doo^ 
which I had not before noticed, and 
which was situated just behind Dr. 
Sorensen's couch. She opened it and waited 
for us to come up to her, 

"Take the lantern and go first, Uncle 
Oscar," said the young lady* She spoke in 
an imperious voice, and I saw the Professor 
give her a glance of slight surprise. 

"Won't you go first, I)agmar?"he said 
i( Dr. Halifax can follow you, and I will 
come up in the rear/' 

She put the lantern into his hand, 

" No, go first," she saicl, with a laugh which 
was a little unsteady. " No one knows your 

Digitized by Li* 

private haunts as well as you do yourself. 
l)r, Halifax will follow- me/' 

The Professor took the lantern without 
another word* He began to descend some 
narrow and steep stairs, They were carpeted, 
and appeared, as far as I could see through 
the gloom, to lead into another passage 
farther down. Miss Sorensen followed her 
uncle immediately. As he did so, she threw 


her head back and gave me a warning glance. 

" Take care, the stairs are steep," she said, 
" Count them ; I will count them for you. I 
wish, Uncle Oscar, you would have this pass- 
age properly lighted*" 

"Come on, Dagmar: what are you linger- 
ing for ? " called the Professor, 

" Follow me, Dr. Halifax/ 5 she said. Her 
hand just touched mine— it burnt like coal. 
"These horrid stairs," she said. "I really 
must count them, or ITl fall," She began to 
count immediately in a sing-song, monotonous 




voice, throwing her words back at me, so 
that I doubt if the Professor heard them. 

"One," she began, "two— three — four — 
five- — six." When she had counted to six, 
she made an abrupt pause. We stood side 
by side on the sixth step. 

"Seven is the perfect number/' she said, in 
my ear— as she spoke, she 
pushed back her arm and 
thrust me forcibly back as 
I was about to advance. 
At the same instant, the 
dim light of the lantern 
went out, and I distinctly 
heard the door by which 
we had entered this narrow 
passage close behind us, 
We were in the dark. I 
was about to call out 1 
* 4 Miss Sorensen — Pro- 
fessor Sorensen," when a 
horrid noise fell upon my 
ears. It was the heavy 
sound as of a falling body. 
It went down, down, 
making fearful echoes as 
it banged against the sides 
of what must have been 
a deep well. Presently 
there was a splash, as if it 
had dropped into water 

That splash was a reve- 
lation. The body, what- 
ever it was, had doubtless 
fallen into the Neva, At 
the same instant, Miss 
So re n s e n ' s mysterious 
words returned to my 
memory : H Avoid the 
seventh step. 1 ' I remem- 
bered that we had gone 
down six steps, and that 
as we descended, she had 
counted them one by one. 
On the edge of the 
sixth step she had 
paused, had pushed me 
back, and then had dis- 
appeared. The Professor 
had also vanished* What 
body was that which had 
fallen through space into 
a deep and watery grave ? 
Miss Sorensen \ mys- 
terious remark was at last abundantly plain. 
There ivas no seventh step — by this trap, 
therefore, but for her interference, I was to 
be hurled into eternity- 

I sank back, trembling in every limb. The 

Digitized by l^OOgle 


horror of my situation can scarcely be de- 
scribed. At any moment the Professor 
might return, and by a push from above, send 
me into my watery grave. In my present 
position, I had no chance of fighting for my 
life* I retraced my steps to the door of the 
upper laboratory and felt vainly all along its 
smooth, hard surface. No 
chance of escape came 
from there. I sat down 
presently on the edge of 
the first step, and waited 
for the end with what 
patience I could. I still 
believed in Miss Soren- 
sen, but would it be 
possible for her to come 
to my rescue ? The silence 
and darkness of the grave 
surrounded me. Was I 
never to see daylight 
again ? I recalled 
Madame Sorensen's face 
when she said a farewell " 
— I recalled the passion 
of despair in Miss Soren- 
sen 's young voice, I had 
touched secrets inadver- 
tently with which I had 
no right to meddle. My 
death was desired by the 
Invincible and the Merci- 
less — of course, I must 
die. As T grew accustomed 
to the darkness and still- 
ness— 4he stillness itself 
was broken by the gur- 
gling, distant sound of run- 
ning water — I could hear 
the flow of the Neva as it 
rushed past my dark grave, 
At the same moment 
the sound of voices fell 
on my ear. They were 
just below me — I felt my 
heart beating almost to 
suffocation, I clenched 
my hands tightly together 
— surely the crucial 
moment had come — could 
I fight for rny life ? 

The Professor's thin, 

polished tones fell like ice 

on my heart. 

" We had better come back and see that 

all is safe, 1 he said. "Of course, he must 

have fallen over, but it is best to be certain." 

" No, no, Uncle Oscar, it is not necessary/' 

I heard Miss Sorensej^.-spy* " Did you not 




hear the sound — the awful sound— of his 
falling body ? I did. I heard a splash as it 
fell into the Neva." 

" Yes, I fancy I did hear it," answered the 
Professor, in a reflective voice. 

"Then don't come back — why should 
we? It is all so horrible — let us return to 
the drawing-rooms as quickly as possible." 

"You are excited, my dear — your voice 
trembles — what is the matter with you ? " 

"Only joy," she replied, "at having got 
rid of a dangerous enemy — now let us go." 

Their voices died away — I could even hear 
the faint echo of their footsteps as they 
departed. I wondered how much longer I 
was to remain in my fearful grave. Had I 
the faintest chance of escaping the doom for 
which I was intended ? Would Miss Sorensen 
be true to the end? She, doubtless, was a 
Nihilist, and as she said herself, they received 
no mercy and gave none. My head began 
to whirl — queer and desperate thoughts 
visited me. I felt my nerves tottering, and 
trembled, for a brief moment, for my reason. 
Suddenly a hand touched my arm, and a 
voice, clear, distinct, but intensely low, spoke 
to me. 

" Thank God, you are here — come with 
me at once — don't ask a question — come 
noiselessly, and at once. I rose to my feet 
— Miss Sorensen's hot fingers clasped 
mine — she did not speak — she drew me 
forward. Once again I felt myself descending 
the steps. We came to the bottom of the 
sixth step. "This way," she said, in a 
muffled tone. She felt with her hands 
against the wall — a panel immediately gave 
way, and we found ourselves in a narrow 
passage, with a very faint light at the farther 
end. Miss Sorensen hurried me along. We 
went round a sort of semi-circular building, 
until at last we reached a small postern door 
in the wall. When we came to it she opened 
it a few inches, and pushed me out. 

" Farewell," she said then. " I have saved 
your life. Farewell, brave Englishman." 

She was about to shut the door in my 
face, but I pushed it back forcibly. 

" I will not go until you tell me the 
meaning of this," I said. 

" You are mad to linger," she replied, " but 
I will tell you in a few words. Professor 
Sorensen and his wife are no relations of 
mine. I am Olga Krestofski, suspeoted 
by the police, the owner of important 
secrets: in short, the head of a branch of 
the Nihilists. I shammed illness, and as- 
sumed the name under which I travelled, in 
order to convey papers of vast importance 
to our cause, to Petersburg. Professor 
Sorensen, as Court physician, has not yet 
incurred the faintest breath of suspicion — 
nevertheless, he is one of the leaders of our 
party, and every individual with whom you 
dined to-night belongs to us. It was 
decreed that you were to die. I decided 
otherwise. There was, as you doubtless have 
discovered, no seventh step. I warned you, 
and you had presence of mind sufficient not 
to continue your perilous downward course 
beyond the edge of the sixth step." 

"But I heard a body fall," I said. 

" Precisely," she replied ; " I placed a bag 
of sand on the edge of the sixth step shortly 
after my arrival this morning, and just as I 
was following Professor Sorensen through the 
secret panel in the wall into the passage beyond, 
I pushed the bag over. This was necessary 
in order to deceive the Professor. He heard § 
it splash into the water, and I was able ^ 
assure him that it was your body. Other- 
wise he would inevitably have returned to 
complete his deadly work. Now, good-bye — 
forgive me, if you can." 

" Why did you bring me here at all ? " I * 

"It was your only chance. Madame 
Sorensen had resolved that you were to die. 
You would have been followed to the ends of 
the earth— now you are safe, because Professor 
and Madame Sorensen think you are dead." 

" And you ? " I said, suddenly. " If by 
any chance this is discovered, what will 
become of you ? " 

There was a passing gleam of light from a 
watery moon — it fell on Miss Sorensen's 
white face. 

" I hold my life cheap," she said. " Fare- 
well. Don't stay long in Petersburg." 

She closed the postern door as she spoke. 

by Google 

Original from 

From Behind the Speakers Chair. 





THE Select Committee of die 
House of Commons, which last 
year, under the presidency of 
Mr. Herbert Gladstone, con- 
sidered whether any and what 
arrangements might be made to improve 
the accommodation provided for members 
and officials of the House, and for the 
representatives of the Press, shrank from a 
larger question submitted. It was proposed 
that evidence should he taken with regard 
to moderate enlargement of the existing 
Chamber and its galleries. On a division, 
this was negatived, and the Committee pro- 
ceeded to recommend certain tinkering, 
duly carried out during the recess. 

The question of a new House for the 
Commons conies up with unfailing regularity 
with every new Parliament. There is no 
doubt that, for the greater number of 
working nights in a Session, the accom- 
modation of the present Chamber is more 
than ample. It is true that, knowing the 
Assembly when fully constituted comprises 
658 members, a 
C h a ni b e r was 
deliberately built 
to seat 306. Ue- 
yond this, accom- 
modation is pro- 
vided in the 
galleries for an 
additional 122 
members. This is 
well enough for 
gentlemen in the 
front row, but 
those in the rear 
can see very little 
and hear not 
much. Within 
the last few years, 
whilst the number 
of members has 
been increased to 
670, accommoda- 
tion for them in 
the galleries has 




been considerably reduced by the enlarge 
rnent of the Press Gallery, 

Whilst, even in these conditions, 
the Chamber is big enough 
for its ordinary purposes, there 
are occasions when inexorable 
limits of space assert themselves, The most 
recent example of extreme inconvenience 
arose on the introduction of the Home Rule 
Kill in the Session of 1893. As early as 
five in the morning members presented 
themselves, and by means of visiting-cards 
or hats allotted particular seats. Mr. 
Austen Chamberlain, Whip of the Liberal 
Unionist Party, was reported to have driven 
into Palace Yard in a four-wheeler filled with 
second-hand hats, which he arranged on the 
benches below the gangway, " pegging-out 
claims" on behalf of his friends. Dr. 
Tanner having exhausted all available stock 
of hats, literally took off his coat, as 
Mr, Par n ell once conditionally pro mi set! 
to do, and attempted to establish a 
claim for the seat it covered. That, 

however, went 
beyond all Par- 
liamentary prtTv 
dent, and the 
claim w r as dis- 
allowed. Colonel 
.S a u Ji d e r son, 
coming in a little 
late (though seven 
o'clock had not 
yet sounded from 
Big Ben), finding 
a strange hat on 
his accustomed 
seat, with rare 
absence of mind 
sat dow f n upon it. 
The general 
result of the 
arrangement was 
so undesirable 
that at subsequent 
critical stages of 
the Bill the 

Original from 




Speaker gave orders that the doors of the 
House were not to be unlocked till noon, a 
restriction which chiefly had the result of 
postponing the scrimmage by six or seven 
hours. By way of in' 
creasing the accommo- 
dation, chairs were 
brought in and 
planted in double row 
down the floor. Not 
more than twenty could 
be so disposed of, and 
what were they among 
so manyj clamorous for 
seats ? __^ 

As far hack ^ BS5B %^I 
1S as 1867, 

STON'STI M E.S e P reSen 5 

Houses of 

Parliament having then 
been in occupation for 
thirty-four years, it was 
felt that something 
must be done to im- 
prove and, if possible, 
enlarge their accom- 
modation. In the 
debates of the closing 
years of this the Palmerston Parliament, 
there will be found many conversations 
on the subject. One suggestion which 
met with general favour was that the walls 
separating the House from the division 
lobbies which encircle it should be re- 

Digitized by l^GO)? [Q 


moved and the space added to the Chamber. 
This attractive proposal was dropped upon 
discovery that the roof of the Chamber is 
supported upon the inner walls, and that in 
order to obtain the space devoted to the 
lobbies the House would practically have 
to be rebuilt. Another scheme provided 
that the walls at either end of the 
Chamber, under the clock and behind the 
Speaker's Chair, should be removed. It 
was estimated that this would provide addi- 
tional seating accommodation for a hundred 
persons. Whether they would be able to 
hear or see is another matter. 

The late Sir Thomas Bazley, at the time 
member for Manchester, fresh from morning 
service at the Tabernacle, propounded still 
another scheme. Behind the side galleries of 
the House there are corridors corresponding 
with the division lobbies below, Mr Bazley 
(not yet Sir Thomas) proposed that these 
lobbies should be appropriated, the galleries 
of the House being extended backward till 
they reached the outward walls. This, he 
triumphantly affirmed, would give sitting 
room for 200 more members. It was clear 
that these might as well be seated within the 
Tabernacle itself as far as ability to follow 
current debate was concerned, 

A C m- 
mk* Harry's mittee was 
plan. appointed 
in 1867 
with instructions to 
consider the whole 
question of the accom- 
modation of the 
House. The main 
result was to for- 
mulate a notable plan 
for a new House of 
Commons, which 
caught on at the time, 
but has long rested fur- 
gotten in the archives 
of the House. It was 
the work of Mr. Bany, 
son of the architect 
of the Palace of West- 
minster, and was 
unanimously adopted 
by the Committee as 
providing an increase 
of accommodation in a most satisfactory 
manner, without involving interruption of 
Sessional proceedings. 

I have before me a copy of the plan, cer- 
tainly the best and the most practicable of a 
cloud of suggestions. It implies nothing more 




nor less than the erection of a new House 
in the court adjoining the existing Chamber, 
known as the Commons' Court. It provides 
a statelier Chamber than the present, with 
the usual accessories for division lobbies, 
corridors, reading-rooms, dining-rooms, smok- 
ing-rooms, private rooms for members of the 
Ministry and officials, and enlarged accom- 
modation for the Press. The new House 
would seat 569 members, for 419 of whom 
places would be found on the floor. 
There would be sitting room for 330 
strangers, making a total of 899 persons, 
increasing the accommodation for members, 
as compared with the present House, by 141 
seats, and for strangers by something like 

In the present House the average width of 
each seat is 20^in. In the new House the 
width of seat room provided per member 
would be 2oin. The shape of the proposed 
Chamber is octagonal, with four long and 
four shorter sides. Its dimensions are 67ft. 
by 63ft, and as it would be 39ft. high, it 
would contain 154,300 cubic feet of space. 
The present Chamber is 68ft. by 44ft, and is 
44ft. high, containing 127,000 cubic feet of 

A feature in Mr. Barry's plan 
which strongly recommended it 
to the Committee was that not 
only would it leave the existing 
Chamber undisturbed during the pro- 
cess of erection, and available for 
the sittings of the House, but when 
completed would utilize the present 
Chamber as a handsome adjunct. 
I,ast year I incidentally mentioned — 
what is a secret to nine-tenths, not 
only of visitors to the House of 
Commons, but of members — that 
the glass roof, illuminated at night, 
which canopies the House of Com- 
mons is not part of the original plan. 
When the Speaker first took the Chair 
in the new House of Commons, 
members were seated under a splen- 
did roof, on which had been lavished 
the fulness of master masons' art. 
It soon became clear that this lofty 
ceiling, with its delicate chisel-work, 
its noble arches, and its dark recesses, 
was the sepulchre of speech. Here 
the sound of the human voice was 
buried, giving up the ghost amid in- 
articulate rumbling. The House of 
Lords was finished off with a roof of 
similar character and proportions. 
It remains to this day, and there are 


not more than a dozen peers who can, without 
effort, make themselves heard throughout the 
Chamber. The Commons, more utilitarian, 
decided that, after all, speeches were more 
precious than the roof; a conclusion which 
perhaps will not be generally accepted in its 
entirety. The ceiling was lowered by the 
construction of the existing glass, the inter- 
vening space between the false ceiling and the 
true one coming in useful for lighting and 
ventilating purposes. The result was that the 
Chamber, at one time as difficult to speak in 
as is the House of Lords to-day, was trans- 
formed into a hall whose acoustical properties 
are unrivalled. 

It was part of Mr. Barry's plan that the 
present House, with the glass ceiling removed 
and the splendid roof restored to the light of 
day, should be used as an approach to the 
new House, and as a private lobby for mem- 
bers. Within it would be provided post-office 
accommodation and rooms for the Whips, 
Ministerial and Opposition. Amongst other 
attractive details of the scheme was a refresh- 
ment room for the use alike of Lords and 
Commons, with a frontage to th« river. 
Mr. Barry, probably with the sanguine 
temperament constitutional with architects, 
estimated that the new buildings might be 
erected at an outlay not exceeding ^120,000. 
A Select Committee having been 
old^tory s P ecial, y appointed to consider 
" the question of a new House for 





the Commons, and having unanimously 
recommended a particular scheme, it would 
seem that the next thing to do was to vote 
the money and get to work on the building. 
That is an anticipation that discloses only 
superficial knowledge of the House of Com- 
mons' habitude. Oftener than not the 
appointment of a Select Committee, or of a 
Royal Commission, is nothing more than a 
device deliberately to shelve a troublesome 
question. More than twenty-seven years have 
passed since this painstaking and prolonged 
inquiry was concluded. Nothing has in the 
meantime been done in the way of carrying 
out its definite, almost peremptory, recom- 
mendations. Last Session 
there was a slight recurrence 
of the unrest of members in 
view of their inadequate 
accommodation. Invariably 
at the opening of a new 
Parliament, when the withers 
of members are unwrung 
and they flock down to 
Westminster with the eager- 
ness of boys admitted to a 
new playground, there is 
fresh outcry for a new House. 
But it dies away as the 
Session grows older, and the 
old Chamber, in which Peel 
has sat, Palmerston has slept, 
Disraeli has manoeuvred, 
and Gladstone has thun- 
dered, still serves. 

The return to 
* life of Mr. 

Elliott Lees 

suggests the 
possibility of re-establishing 
the House of Commons' 
Steeplechases. These were 
started in the Session of 1889, when, after 
a memorable race, Mr. Lees, then mem* 
fc ber for Oldham, rode in first amongst 
the light weights, repeating his victory 
in the following year. Mr. Cyril Flower, 
now Lord Battersea, actually came in first on 
a horse, understood to have been named 
" Home Rule." The circumstance that 
one of the Liberal Whips had ridden past 
the winning post on " Home Rule " was re- 
garded at the time by adherents of that policy 
as a good omen. It turned out that there 
had been a mistake. It was not " Home 
Rule," but quite another horse, one dis- 
qualified by earlier achievements, which Mr. 
Flower had ridden. He was accordingly 




Vol. 1X.-23. 

disqualified, and to this day in his Dorset 
home Mr. Elliott Lees dines under the 
shadow of the huge silver cup, prize of the 
House of Commons' Steeplechase, none 
daring to make him afraid. 

One circumstance calculated to 
unhorsed, militate against inclination to re- 
establish this festival is the 
notable Parliamentary mortality marked in 
the cases of the riders in this race. Of a 
dozen whose names I remember, a very 
small proportion escaped the perils of the 
General Election. Only three — Mr. Bromley- 
Davenport, Mr. Muntz, and Mr. Frank Mild- 
may — rode in at the memorable struggle at 
the polls in the autumn of 
1892. For the rest, one, 
Mr. Fitzwilliam, died ; Mr. 
Cyril Flower ascended to 
the House of Lords, where 
he now beams as Lord 
Battersea; Mr. Western 
Jarvis, the most active pro- 
moter and manager of the 
steeplechase, did not offer 
himself for re-election at the 
General Election, an 
example followed by Mr. 
Bazlcy White, Of the rest, 
Mr. Elliott Lees, Mr. Walter 
Long, Mr. Hermon-Hodge, 
Mr. Raymond Heath, and 
Mr. A. Pease were defeated 
at the poll. Mr. Walter 
Long got in at a by-election, 
and Mr. Elliott Lees has 
now joined him, 

Dick Power never rode 
in any of the steeplechases 
which followed each other in 
regular succession from 1889 
to 1892. But he took a keen 
interest in the proceedings, 
and at the time his earthly race was all too 
early closed had missed none of the House 
of Commons' events. Mr. Alfred Pease won 
the race in 1891. Mr. Frank Mildmay 
delighting an honest hunting constituency 
by winning the cup in 1892, a distinction 
which, as mentioned, did not at the General 
Election save his seat in quite another mount. 

It is piquant to hear com- 
william p i aints made of the taciturnity 

of Sir William Harcourt in his 
capacity of Leader of the House 
of Commons following upon his placid en- 
joyment of a hermit recess. The Chancellor of 
the Exchequer might well retort, in the words 
of the corporal administering an ordered 





bout of punishment to a peccant private : 
" Hit high or hit low, I can't please you." 
lime was when complaint of his manner on 
the Opposition Benches was directed against 
his, alleged, too -frequent interposition in 
debate. Now he is accused of provoking 
brevity, of contemptuous abstention from 
participation in debate. Speak much or 
speak little, he fails to please. 

It is quite true that Sir William Harcourt's 
Parliamentary custom of to-day varies in 
marked manner from what it used to be, even 
so recently as the Session of 1893. But a 
great deal has happened since then. He is 
now Leader of the House of Commons, 
responsible for getting its work through. To 
that end he knows there is no contribution 
more valuable than habitual flashes of 
silence. The House of Commons is prone 
to find the key-note of its passing mood 
on the Treasury Bench. If the Leader 
is talkative, it will cheerfully respond. If he 
is concise, it refrains from garrulity. When, 
on the final day of July last year, Sir William 
Harcourt moved the Time Closure with the 
object of getting the Evicted Tenants Bill 
through, he, to Mr. Arthur Balfour's measure- 
less amazement, his quite uncontrollable 
indignation, spoke for only five minutes. 

" Never in the history 
of Parliament," Mr. Bal- 
four, with clenched hands 
and flashing eyes, cried 
aloud, " has such a pro- 
posal been made in so 
brief a speech." 

That was true ; but 
long before midnight 
debate was brought to 
a conclusion, and the 
extra hour which another 
leader might have occu- 
pied in spinning phrases 
over a foregone conclu- 
sion was utilized to pass 
the report stage of a 
batch of Supply. 

Sir William 
mr. Harcourt's 
disraeu. plan of cam- 
paign as 
Leader of the House of 
Commons is avowedly 
based on a study of Mr. 
Disraeli's manner whilst 
he occupied the same position. The 
member for Oxford in the Parliament of 
1874 was, in spite of political differences, on 
terms of personal intimacy with the Conser- 


by LiOOgle 

vative chief. They said many good things 
to each other. One of Disraeli's apothegms 
falling on attentive ears lives in practice at 
this day. " A successful Leader of the House 
of Commons," said Mr. Disraeli, " should, in 
degree, order his procedure by the nursery 
formula for the direction of a child admitted 
to the company of his elders. He should be 
seen, but not heard." 

That was a principle faithfully carried into 
practice by its promulgator. He was the 
most patient and the most constant attendant 
on the business of the House. However 
dull might be the proceedings, he was there 
to watch their course. Hour after hour he 
sat with arms folded, legs crossed — " Like a 
Crusader on a tombstone," Beresford-Hope, 
who did not unreservedly admire him, once 
spitefully, but sotto voce, observed — head 
bent down, eyes that seemed to sleep, but 
missed no movement in any part of the 
House. Whole pages of Hansard^ covering 
successive nights of a Session during his 
leadership, may be glanced over without 
evidence of his presence beyond an answer 
extracted from him at question time. His 
idea was that the Leader of the House of 
Commons should occupy something of the 
position of editor on a well-regulated news- 
paper. It is that able 
person's business to get 
the best possible work 
out of his staff, confining 
his own labour to in- 
spiration, direction, and 
revision. Disraeli, hold- 
ing his colleagues respon- 
sible for the affairs of 
their several depart- 
ments, let them speak 
for them in the House 
of Commons. 

This prin- 
ciple was 
sorely tried 
when, in the # 
Session of 1876, Sir 
Charles Adderley, as 
President of the Board 
of Trade, had charge ot 
the Merchant Shipping 
Bill. Rarely has such a 
muddle been seen since 
Parliaments began. It 
culminated in the famous 
episode when Mr. Plimsoll broke out and, as 
was written at the time, stood on one leg on 
the floor of the House and shook his fist at 
the Speaker. After that, poor Sir Charles 








Adder! ey was ob- 
viously i 111 jx>ssi ble, 
Still, the Premier 
scrupulously re- 
frained from any 
overt act of super- 
session, Only Sir 
Stafford North cote 
and Sir John Hoi- 
ker, then Attorney- 
General, were told 
off to sit, one on 
either side of him, 
through the long 
nights when the 
Kill was in Com- 
mittee, With their 
aid the Bill, wholly 
transformed, passed 
through the House, 
and as soon as 
possible, having 
due regard to 
decency, Sir Charles Adderley was made a 
peer, with the title of Lord Norton. 

It is little wonder that Mr. \\\ 
mr, w. h. H« Smith f who, regarded as a 

smith. Minister, was almost literally 
*■ brought up by hand n in the 
Disraeli nursery, should, when he came to be 
Leader of the House, remember his old 
master's lessons. Though in no other- 
wise comparable with Parliamentary giants 
of his own or other days, Mr. Smith was, 
undoubtedly, one of the most successful 
Leaders the House has known, lj]ce Mr* 
Disraeli, he was always on the spot. If not 
actually on the Treasury Bench, whence he 
was rarely missed, he was in his room, within 
sound of the division bell or call of the 
messenger. Also like the Master, he appre- 
ciated the relative value of speech and 
silence. Though the Leader of the House 
may strategically refrain from lengthening 
debate by interposing speeches in supplement 
of the Minister in charge of Bill or motion, it 
is (or was) expected of him that he should 
wind up the debate. In times when Mr. 
Disraeli and Mr. Gladstone faced each other 
across the table, no important debate was 
concluded till the Leader of the Opposition 
had delivered a set speech, and the Leader of 
the House had elaborately replied, 

Mr. Smith invariably excused himself from 
observance of this custom. Mr. ( Gladstone, 
as Leader of the Opposition, might fire a 
parting volley into a passing Kill. The 
Leader of the House left the duty of replying 
to the Minister in charge of the measure, he 

Digitized by Gt 

sitting applausive by his side. This habit 
led to abatement of excitement as compared 
with the immediate preparation for an im- 
portant division in earlier days* But the 
division took place a little earlier, and the 
practical result, as far as figures went, was 
precisely the same, 

Mr. Gladstone, whether as Leader 

MR, of the House or as Leader of the 

Gladstone, Opposition, differed wholly from 

the model set up by his long-time 
rival. So restless was his energy, so minute 
his knowledge, so boundless his vocabulary, 
that, even to the last, he found it impossible 
to abstain from taking the lead in whatever 
debate went forward. Had Mr* Disraeli, in 
the process of evolution, found himself 
Leader of a Government pledged to the 
Home Rule Bill, and had he had a 
Chief Secretary so capable and enthusi- 
astic as Mr, John Morley, he would, 
have left the direct charge of the Bill to 
his colleague, holding himself in reserve, as 
Napoleon was wont to hold the Imperial 
Guard, It was reported at the opening of 
the Session that, whilst the Premier would 
personally introduce the Bill, he would 
thereafter, more especially in Committee, 
leave its conduct to Mr. Morley. Perhaps, 
being constitutionally of a sanguine mood, 
he thought that was possible. When put to 
the test, he found irresistible the temptation 
to be ever in his place through Committee, 
watchful, alert, convincing out of all pro- 
portion to necessity , replying to a captious 
nonentity with as painstaking precision and 
force of argument as he answered Mr. 
Balfour or Mr, Goschen. 

In his translation of the "Odes of Horace/' 
a work completed, I believe, before sunset on 
the very day he resigned the Premiership, 
Mr, Gladstone expresses the opinion that 
"the translation of Horace should earn' 
compression to the farthest practicable point." 
That is a principle he reserved for the 
classics and denied to the Commons. 
Through the prolonged debate on the 
Home Rule Bill of 1^93, as the Premier 
pounced upon some immaterial person below 
the gangway and rent his assertion to shreds, 
one often thought of the eagle catching flies. 
It was magnificent, but it was not war 
Frequently the direct effect of the Premier's 
interposition was to revive a flagging debate 
and postpone by an hour or an evening a 
division which, had he restrained himself, 
might forthwith have been taken. Sir 
William Harcourt has had the advantage of 
personally studying both manners of conduct- 


i 7 * 



ing business in the House of Commons, 
Observation of the (iladstonian has confirmed 
his conviction nf the sounder principle that 
underlies the l>israelian. 

The most notable feature in the 
thirteenth Parliament of Queen 

oi u styi v lctom ' a * tar as lt ,iay B one > 1S 
J * the self-effacement of the Irish 

members. Peers who chanced to sit in the 
Parliaments of 1874 or i8Ho, looking in now 
on the old familiar scene, scarcely recognise 
It. In those days no debate was com- 
plete without contributions from at least 
a dozen of the Irish members. A ease 
that occurs to the mind dates back just 
eighteen years. The Government had 
brought in a Kill proposing the Federation 
of the South African Colonies 1 this was 
a subject, it was reasonable to suppose, 
not specially attractive for the Irish mem- 
Urs t That assumption only showed how 
limited, at the time, was knowledge of the 
possibilities of Irish eloquence. The House 
having got into Committee on the South 
African Bill, the formal motion that the pre- 
amble be postponed was made. Thereupon 
Mr, O'Donnell blandly interposed. There 
followed a scene in which Mr. Parnell had 
11 his words taken down," and a condition of 
affairs supervened which culminated in a 
sitting of twenty-six hours. That has been 
beaten since, but it was thought much of at 
the time. 

Since those days the capacity of 

new the Irish member, apparently 

stvle. without an hours preparation. 

to talk on any subject that 
comes uppermost* has been frequently vin- 
dicated. In the Sutisburv Parliament, which 
preceded that no* sirring, they, falling 
more into line with the regular Opposition, 
moderated their oratorical ardour. Since 
the General Election of i5g<! returned 

Digitized by GOOglc 

Mr. Gladstone to power with the Home Rule 
flag nailed to the Ministerial mast, the Irish 
members have developed an almost uncanny 
ability to forego speech-making. To the 
ordinary representative of Irish Nationalist 
politics, this vow of silence must be a severe 
discipline. What it must be for Mr, W. 
(THrien, Mr. T. Healy, and, above all, for Ml 
Sexton, no tongue can tell and few Imaginations 
can conceive. To sit silent night after night, 
week after week, whilst others talk at large, 
is an ordeal the patient standing of which 
testifies to possession of high courage and 
marvellous self-command. 

During the debates on the Home 

a safety Rule Bill, Mr Healy hit upon a 

valve, plan which Mr. Arthur Balfour, 

whilst not approving, admitted 
was desirable from the point of view of 
a safety valve. When any particularly 
provocative speech was made against the 
Hill, Mr. Healy punctuated its delivery 
with more or less pertinent remarks. It 
is an ordinary habit of members to jot down 
comment or criticism, as they suggest them- 
selves in listening to a speech they propose to 
answer. Mr, Healy, in accordance with the 
Irish Parliamentary Flan of Campaign, did 
not propose to answer anyone by set speech. 
It was, therefore, no use jotting down 
o bser va t i on s as t h e y occu rred 1 & h i m . A ccord- 
ingly he let them fly forthwith, a proceeding 
which, though not lacking in interest, was 
somewhat embarrassing even to so practised 
a speaker as Mr, Balfour. Still, he recognised 
a certain utility in the habit, since, as he put 
it, there was every prospect of the hon. gentle- 
man bursting if it were not for this safety 
valve of exclamation. 

Mr. O'Brien, who up to the epoch 

mr, w. of the Boulogne expedition w »s 

o'hkien. one of the most prominent and 

most passionate participants in 
debate, now finds it possible to sit through 
a long evening without uttering a sentence. 
He somewhat unexpectedly broke silence 
last Session, interposing in debate arising 
out of the conflict between Lords and 
Commons on the Evicted Tenants Bill 
It was interesting to note how with with- 
drawal from practice he seems to have lost 
his former hold on the House. Even when 
- - perhaps because when — he faced an 
assembly the vast majority of which was 
angrily hostile, he has commanded its atten- 
tion, sometimes controlled its conviction, by 
the strength of his argument and the power 
of his eloquence. The transformation in 

these respetXs. marked bv his careful I v- 
Origmal from * 




prepared speech on the Evicted Tenants Bill 
was painfully notable. 

Of all Irish members this spell 

'I HI- *\ ■ 

of comparative silence is most 
remarkable in Mr, Sexton. For 
some years he did his best to 
s[>oil his own reputation. With 
question in all its phases at 
his finger-ends, a keen debater, a feli- 
citous phrase-maker, capable on occasion of 
rising to heights of genuine eloquence, 
he swamped himself and his audience in 
floods of immeasurable verbosity, Under 
the new condition of affairs, pledged not 
to assist the Opposition in the design 
he and his friends alleged against them of 


the Irish 

indefinitely postponing Home Rule by talk- 
ing against time, he, above all men, was 
bound to circumscribe the number and the 
length of his speeches. The undesigned 
consequence has been most beneficial Of 
late, his contributions to debate, rare in 
number and condensed in bulk, have been 
listened to with pleasure and approval by 
crowded Houses, To influence votes in the 
House of Commons by speech -making has 
long been recognised as beyond the range of 
custom, if not of possibility. Mr, Sexton's 
speeches, in his later and better manner, if 
they have not achieved the impossible, have 
not infrequently at least influenced the course 
of debate. 


by Google 

Original from 

An Ocean Graveyard. 

By J, Laurence Hokmbrook, 

E never knew his real name. 
Everyone called him Captain 
George; and Captain George 
he remained, from the first day 
he entered Land port Harbour, 
until the night I parted from 
him in Plymouth Sound, about four years 
later. His arrival at Landport was announced 
in the Northern Post and Shipping Gazette 
in this manner :— 

Landport, Sunday —Steam yacht Wanderer arrived 
from Stockton, with machinery damaged. Owner, 
Captain George. 

What was he like? Well, if you had put 
the question to the gentry of the place, some 

was looked upon as a bold, gallant sailor, who 
loved the sea and everything connected with 
it— a man we all admired and looked up to. 

He frequently put into landport after that 
— at odd times, summer and winter — but 
came round regularly every June, He never 
made friends in the place, and few acquaint- 
ances. People still held pretty much the 
same opinion concerning him. On different 
occasions, as he passed along by the sea-wall, 
I have seen more than one lovely head turned 
to take a sly look at his mil figure, and heard 
the whisper : — 

4i There's that strange man, Captain George. 
Isn't he handsome ? " 

■ ^Sy^a^s. 


would have answered it with a shrug of the 
shoulders, as much as to say they couldn't well 
make him out ; others would have told you 
he seemed a haughty, reserved, standoff sort 
of man. If you had asked any of the young 
ladies, you would very likely have heard that 
he was u charming/' but that they believed 
him to be a pirate chief in disguise, or some 
nonsense of that kind. Among us divers he 

by Google 

Towards the end of August I was engaged 
with two other divers to remove cargo from 
the steamer Magellan, which had run on an 
outlying reef about twenty miles down the 
coast. The surveyor of the Landport Salvage 
Association, Captain Lofton, was in charge 
of the wreck, and had orders to make a push 
to get her cleared out while the weather held 
fine. We put up at a neighbouring village, a 

Original from 



place called St, Nevin, a pretty little spot 
hidden away at the top of a small, land-locked 

On the third morning it was blowing rather 
fresh. While I was waiting in the little 
parlour of the "Mariner's Rest" — the only 
thing in the shape of an hotel of which St. 
Nevin could boast — Captain Lorton came in. 
He went up to the barometer on the wall, 
tapped it, and said : — 

" Glass falling : this breeze will freshen 
during the day, and most likely run up to a 
gale before night If it does, there won't be 
much of the Magellan left by morning, 
Lawrenceson. At any rate, it would be too 
risky to venture out with the wind rising in 
this way." 

About twelve o'clock I noticed a consider- 
able stir amongst the fishermen on the beach. 
Looking seaward, I saw a large steam yacht 
entering the bay. I recognised her at once. 
It was the Wanderer. 

Captain George came on shore during the 
afternoon, and looked in to the " Mariner's 
Rest." It seemed he had heard of the 
wreck, and was anxious to visit the scene of 
the disaster. 

" It's blowing hard outside," he said, "and 
very thick, too. I saw the fishing boats 
running in for Widmouth this morning, a 
sure sign of dirty weather at sea. We're in 
for a stiff sou'-wester, I fancy, and I shouldn't 
be surprised if it brought down the rain 
before evening." 

He was right. As the wind increased, a 
thick mist crept up from the sea, and 
presently a sudden squall drove a torrent of 
rain against the window. There were just 
six of us present : myself, the two other 
divers, Moxly and Williams, Captain Lorton, 
Captain George; and a Captain Linklater, 
a retired master mariner, who lived in 
St Nevin. 

We had a ccsy fire in the room, for the 
weather was unusually cold, and sat round it 
spinning yarns. The heat inside and the 
cold without had dulled the glass of the 
window, so that it almost looked as if it had 
been muffed. We could hear the crash of 
the billows on the beach below, followed by 
a deep rumble, like distant thunder, as the 
backward rush of the water tore the loose 
shingle from the beach. 

"It's well you won't be at sea to-night, 
Captain George," I remarked, in a pause of 
the conversation. 

" I'm half sorry to miss it," he returned, 
getting up and approaching the window. 
He cleared a space on the glass, and stood 

by L^OOgle 

looking out over the bay. " There's nothing 
I like better than driving full speed through 
a gale," he went on, "provided I have a good 
sea-boat under me, and no fear of a dangerous 
coast lying under my lee." 

" Aye, the're worse dangers at sea than 
storms," put in Captain Linklater. 

" I'm inclined to agree with you there," 
said Captain Lorton. "When I had com- 
mand of a North Atlantic boat, I'd rather 
have faced a three-day gale than be walled 
up for ten hours in a fog. A gale of wind is 
a straightforward, honest kind of thing ; you 
can see at a glance how matters stand, and 
know where the danger lies. But Heaven 
defend me from a fog ! I always felt like a 
child out in a strange place on a dark night, 
groping my way along, and never knowing at 
what moment I might bump up against some 

"The're worse dangers than fogs," returned 
the old captain, blinking his eyes at the fire, 
and smoking very hard. 


" Worse still." 


" Woree." 

"What, then?" 

" Rocks." 

" Rocks !" exclaimed the surveyor. " Why, 
you have them plainly marked on your chart, 
and know exactly where to expect them." 

" Aye, but when they are not marked on 
your chart, and you come across them where 
you dorit expect them ! " the other replied, 
in a rathef mysterious manner. 

I noticed that Captain George had turned 
from the window, and was listening atten- 
tively to the conversation. 

" I should like to know where such a rock 
exists ! " said Captain Lorton, in a way that 
showed plainly he had very little faith in any- 
thing of the kind. 

"Well, I'll tell you," returned the old 
skipper, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, 
and laying it on the mantelshelf. " It exists 
in the broad Atlantic — out in mid-ocean — 
somewhere between the Azores and the coast 
of Nova Scotia." 

" A pretty wide range that," remarked 
Captain Lorton. 

" Yes ; but a dangerous one." 

Linklater stood up, turned his back to the 
fire, and seemed striving to recall some half- 
forgotten facts. Every eye was fixed upon 
his weather-beaten face ; we saw he had a 
strange story to tell. 

" It is a well-known fact," he began, " that 
every year three or four vessels — sometimes 





more— disappear in the Atlantic, and their 
fate has always remained a mystery. As far 
back as 18413 the President sailed from New 
York for Liverpool, in charge of one of the 
most skilful navigators of the day, Captain 
Roberts, the man who commanded the Sirius^ 
the first steamer that crossed the Atlantic* She 
foundered in mid-ocean with all hands. In 
1846 the Savannah^ an American sailing ship, 
left New Orleans for Bristol. She was sighted 
off the Bahamas, but from that day to this 
nothing more was heard of her. In 1853 
the Southern Cross disappeared in the same 
manner, A few years later an emigrant 
steamer — the Nomad^ I think - - went 
down with 800 souls, and the cause of the 
disaster was never known. Between i860 
and 1870 no fewer than eighteen vessels 
disappeared in the same mysterious way. 
Coming down to a later date, we have the 
Crusader the old Crusader^ I mean— the 
Ckptic, the White Siave^ the Ontario, an 
American liner, and a host of others. In 
1890 we have the Erin* of the National line; 
the Italian barque, Silvio^ which sailed from 
Holyhead in January of that year, and was 
subsequently spoken in the North Atlantic ; 

by Google 

the Thanemore, a British steamer ; and the 
Roman Empire, a splendid iron ship, which 
was passed on the 1 ith June by a homeward^ 
bound vessel, and reported * All welLV But, 
perhaps, the strangest case of all was that of 
the German ship, the Maria Rkkmers, about 
which there has been su much talk lately in 
the shipping world." 

*'I remember hearing of her, 1 ' said Captain 
Lorton* "She was a five-masted barque, I 
think, and said to be the largest sailing ship 

" Well, this magnificent vessel, fully 
manned , and in charge of experienced 
officers, sailed from Saigon for Bremen on 
the 15th July, 1892. It was only her second 
voyage, mind you. She was sighted in the 
Atlantic, about 300 miles west of the 
Azores, and the total disappearance of 
such a ship, in comparatively fine weather, 
is one of the most remarkable of these 
ocean mysteries, From all those vessels, 
not one soul escaped to tell of the 
disaster, and save in one or two instances, 
not even a boat or life-buoy belonging to 
them was picked up. How did they dis- 
appear ? You will say they foundered in a 

Original from 




gale ; possibly some of them might have 
done so, but not all. How do you account 
for the fact that dozens of other vessels 
crossed the Atlantic in safety at the very 
same time, often without encountering un- 
usually bad weather ? " 

"It seems strange, certainly," remarked 

" It just comes to this," continued the 
skipper, in a rather excited way, for he was 
now thoroughly warmed into the subject ; 
" it just comes to this : an unknown danger 
lay in the path of those vessels — or some of 
them, at any rate ; they came upon it sud- 
denly, perhaps in the dead of night, when 
they were least prepared, and the result was 
an appalling disaster." 

" But I don't see how all this proves the 
existence of a mid-Atlantic rock," said Cap- 
tain Lorton. 

" Wait a minute, I'm coming to that pre- 
sently," replied Linklater. " In '76 I was 
bound from Pensacola, in Florida, to Fal- 
mouth, with a cargo of grain. My vessel, the 
barque SL Kilda, of Sunderland — afterwards 
wrecked, you may remember, off Cape 
Hatteras — was not what you might call a 
clipper, though a good, safe boat in a heavy 
sea. Her qualities were well tested on that 
voyage, at any rate; we came in for one of 
the stiffest gales I ever encountered in the 
Atlantic. After trying to hold her on her 
course for some hours, I had to give it up as 
a bad job, and let her drive. We ran away 
before the wind for the best part of two days, 
in a nor'-westerly direction. 

" When the gale slackened a bit I got the 
vessel round, and commenced to beat back 
to our former course. It was still blowing 
fresh enough, the sea running high, and the 
clouds showing signs of more wind, so we 
had to be sparing with our canvas. One 
night, just as I was about to go below and turn 
in, the man in the bows suddenly sang out : — 

" ' Breakers aliead ! ' 

" My first impression was that the fellow 
had got hold of a rum cask, and had been 
imbibing pretty freely. I took no notice of 
the warning, but as I stood there the man 
turned and shouted, in more startling tones : — 

" 4 Breakers ahead, sir ! ' 

" Now, if he had said, ' The sea-serpent 
ahead,' or 4 A mermaid ahead,' I mightn't 
have been so surprised, but * Breakers 
ahead' — in mid-ocean, mind you — fairly 
took my breath away. I rushed forward. As 
I stood in the bows, peering out over the 
tossing waters, I could distinctly hear the 
roar of breakers somewhere in front. 

VoL ix-24. 

" The moon was showing out through the 
broken clouds, and just then I caught sight 
of a dark spot straight ahead, round which 
the water swirled and tossed. I had barely 
time to halloa out ' Hard a-port ! ' to the 
helmsman, in order to clear it. Without any 
mistake it was a rock ; I could see its black 
top appear for a second or two, and then it 
was covered in a cloud of foam. Sometimes 
a big wave swept right over it, but generally 
they smashed with a roar that I can tell you 
would have struck terror to your heart." 

A dead silence followed this extraordinary 
story. It had been told in such a way as to 
convince us there was something in it ; even 
Captain Lorton appeared to ponder over the 
facts. After a long pause, Moxly said : — 

" I remember once hearing an old Scotch 
skipper from Dundee tell pretty much the 
same story." 

It was plainly to be seen that Linklater's 
strange yarn had made a deep impression 
upon every man present. After that last 
remark, no one spoke. Perhaps if it had 
been told under different circumstances, it 
might not have taken such a hold upon us ; 
but, somehow, the pounding of the billows 
on the beach, the rumble of shingle, and the 
furious gusts of wind that sent the rain 
dashing against the window, seemed to 
deepen the effect. 

"What do you think of all this, Captain 
George?" I said, at length, turning towards 

" I think Captain Linklater is right," he 

" You believe in this mysterious rock, 

" I have seen it." 

" Well, if that Scotch skipper could be 
found, three of us could bear witness to the 
fact, at any rate," remarked Linklater. 

"It may be as you say, of course," said 
Captain Lorton, doubtfully. " But how is it, 
if such a rock really exists, it has remained 
so long unknown ? " 

" I have my own theory as to that," replied 
Captain George. 

" Would you mind giving us the benefit 
of it ? " 

" My belief is this : that rock appears and 
disappears at intervals." 

" Impossible ! " 

" Why so ? How can you or I tell what 
goes on in the bed of the ocean ? It is a 
sealed book to us. \Y r e are told there are 
hills and valleys there, just the same as on 
land. How do we know what forces are at 
work in those submarine tracts? In South 




America, and other parts, an earthquake will 
change the whole face of a district in half an 
hour. If such an alteration can take place 
on land, who dare venture to say it cannot 
occur at the bottom of the sea ? " 

" 1 should be slow to believe it," said the 

"Look at the Pacific/ 1 continued Captain 
George, who appeared strangely interested in 
this question. "There you will find that 
not only a rock, but a whole island, will come 
to the surface in a single week. If 
you go to look for it a month later, 
most likely it will have vanished. 
What is to prevent a thing of this 
kind happening nearer home ? Why, 
only the other day the hull of a 
brig, which had been burnt at sea 
fifty years ago, was thrown up off 
the Faroe Islands, and towed into 
Galveston Harbour. How do you 
account for that ? " 

The question led to a pretty lively 
discussion, and it was eight o'clock 
before the party broke up. Ky that 
time the rain had ceased, and the 
wind was dying down. Captain 
George asked for a lantern to signal 
the Wanderer to send a boat on 

" Come on board with me, Lau- 
ren ceson," he said, as he was leaving. 
41 1 want to have a chat with you 
about this matter we have just been 

When we reached the wet, slippery 
deck of the yacht, he led the way 
into the saloon, turned up the lamps, 
and pointed to a chair near the 
table. I sat down. He folded his 
arms, and walked backwards and 
forwards with a gloomy look. 

"A snug cabin this, Captain 
George," I said, glancing around. 

"Rather too large for my taste," he replied ; 
" but one requires a roomy boat when their 
home is on the sea. It is strange, Lawrence- 
son, what disappointment will do for a man ; 
it drives some to drink, some to a monastery, 
and some to an asylum. It has driven me 
to the sea." 

I didn't exactly know what to say, for I 
had never seen him in one of these dark 
moods before, and thought it best to remain 

"Well," he said, presently, brightening up 
a bit, "I didn't bring you off here to listen 
to my growling. About this rock. You 
heard what Linklater had to say ; though, 

perhaps, you may think he was mistaken. 
He was not. I can give you pretty fair 
evidence of its existence." 

He went to a sort of writing-table at the 
head of the saloon, unlocked one of the 
drawers, and took out a piece of torn, 
discoloured paper. 

(1 Read this," he said, laying it on the 
table before me, u You can take it on shore 
if you like, and show it to your surveyor. I 
think it will convince him. 1 ' 

tfX>£y»n<rn S . 

by L^OOgle 

bH KifALJ -iriis 1" 

The writing was blotched and blurred, as if 
the paper had been under water a consider- 
able time. Nevertheless, I had little diffi- 
culty in making it out. 1 have that scrap of 
paper still ; I keep it with a few other curious 
relics of the sea. Here it is > - 

" * Nevada * struck unknown rack in mid- 
aeean. God have merer upon us! We are 
allfost—H. B. West, E/mira, U.S." 

"A strange messaged said Captain George, 
u and it came into my hands in a very 
singular way. Some years ago I was cruiz- 
ing off the west coast of Ireland. One 
morning;; we put out a trawl, and in making 
a haul we captured an enormous codfish. 
Original from 




When the cook opened it, he found in the 
maw a silver match-box, a plain gold ring, 
and a small case of cedar-wood. That case, 
which bore the initials * H. B. W.,' contained 
this scrap of paper. Though the water had 
soaked into it, I fancy it must have been 
floating when the greedy fish got hold of it. 
I infer this from the fact that there was an 
inch or so of string hanging from the case, as 
if it had been originally attached to a bottle, 
a piece of cork, or something of that kind." 

" The Nevada ! " I said, repeating the name. 
" I fancy I remember hearing of that vessel." 

"Very likely," he replied. "She was an 
Atlantic boat, running between Boston and 
London. If I'm not mistaken, she was 
lost in '78 ; another of those ocean mysteries, 
you see, for her fate is still a matter of mere 
conjecture in the shipping world." 

" I suppose you endeavoured to trace the 
friends or relatives of this Mr. West? — for it 
looks like a man's handwriting." 

" Not I. What good would it have done? 
His friends or relatives, if he had any, had 
long ago given him up for lost ; why should 
I open an old wound ? " 

" But, at any rate, you communicated with 
the owners of the vessel ? " 

" I did nothing of the kind. I should 
only have brought their representative down 
upon me ; probably he would have followed 
me from port to port, and I had no fancy to 
be pestered in that way. Very possibly a 
newspaper man would have been set on my 
track, and I couldn't have given him the slip 
so easily. If he failed to find me in port, he 
would have started off in chase of the 
Wanderer, and tried to interview me on the 
high seas — as one of them did, you remem- 
ber, in the case of Captain Morrell, of the 

" So you kept this information entirely to 

" I made good use of it. I went and 
searched for that rock ; and I found it." 

" Where does it lie ? " 

" You shall see for yourself ; that is, if you 
agree to a proposition I have to make. When 
I discovered the position of the rock I 
determined, some day or other, to make a 
careful survey of the spot on my own account, 
by sending down a diver to examine its 
formation. The conversation this afternoon 
has revived my — well, whim, fad, or what- 
ever you like to call it. I am ready to set 
out on the expedition whenever I can find a 
diver bold enough " 

" I'm your man, Captain George ! " I 

Digitized by C-OOgle 

" Good : I couldn't ask for better. I think 
you will find it as profitable employment as 
staying at home and taking your chance of 
wrecks. This is not exactly the best time of 
year for the enterprise, but no matter ! It 
will take a week or so to get the Wanderer 
properly fitted out, and ship sufficient stores. 
Can you be ready within ten days ? " 

I told him I had no other work in view 
once we had finished with the Magellan, 
and, after that day's storm, I fully expected 
she would give us little further trouble. 

" I will drop into Landport at the end of 
next week," he said. '* Meanwhile, keep this 
pioject to yourself; I don't want it talked 
about, or to have any fuss made in the news- 

He accompanied me on deck, the boat 
was hauled up alongside, and I returned to 
the shore. When I awoke next morning, 
and looked out over the bay, the Wanderer 
was gone. 

On the 17th of September we commenced 
our remarkable voyage. I felt somewhat 
depressed, I don't know why, at leaving home 
on that occasion. There was something 
attractive in the idea of solving this great 
Atlantic mystery, which, if it really existed, 
must have caused untold disasters. Still, I 
was not altogether carried away by Captain 
George's views, and entertained considerable 
doubt as to our success. But upon one 
point I had fully made up my mind : if the 
rock was there, my first duty on returning to 
England would be to make the fact known 
far and wide, so that the fatal spot might be 
marked on the charts of every nation. 

We put into Queenstown on our way out, 
to get a full supply of water, and I had an 
opportunity of admiring the extent of this 
magnificent harbour, which I now saw for 
the first time. 

We were soon at sea again, and steered 
west-sou'-west for several days. We sighted 
some of the big Atlantic liners in the dis- 
tance. One evening a huge Cunarder passed 
within a mile or so of us, her funnels belch- 
ing out columns of smoke that trailed away 
far behind. 

" Making a rush with the mails," Captain 
George remarked, as we watched her. 

That night, before turning in, we saw the 
lights of another steamer on our starboard bow, 
and waited on deck to get a view of her as she 
passed. When she came up abreast of the 
yacht, and I gazed at the long, dark outline 
of her hull, studded with rows of electric 
lights, I could scarcely bring myself to believe 
it was a ship. It looked more like a small 




seaport when seen from the water on a clear 
night. She was going ahead at tremendous 
speed — probably between twenty - one and 
twenty-two knots an hour 

u A race ! " said Captain George, M De- 
pend upon it, she is trying to overhaul the 
C una r den" 

Next day it was blowing rather fresh, and 

down. Captain George stood on the bridge, 
and for upwards of an hour he took entire 
charge of the vessel, altering the course from 
time to time* Then he gave the signal to 

The men in the bows were ready with the 
anchor, and presently I heard it splash into 
the writer. We were provided with a special 

** A kACE 1 " 

we had a choppy sea. It struck me as strange 
that, up to the present, Captain George had 
made no direct reference to the object of our 
voyage. That morning, however, after break- 
fast, be said to me : — 

-< We must take our bearings at noon, 
Lawreneeson, or we may overshoot the mark." 

We did so, and when we had picked out 
our position on the chart, the course was 
altered to eou'-sou'-west. This brought us 
more out of the track of Atlantic steamers, 
though we still sighted a number of sailing 
ships. I noticed that Captain George kept a 
close eye on the chart during the next few 

One morning, when he had made the 
usual daily reckoning, he came down into 
the saloon with a paper in his hand, upon 
which was marked the latitude and longitude. 

"Get your diving-gear ready, lawreneeson/ 1 
he said. ml You'll want it before long,' J 

" Is the rock in sight ? JF 

"No; nor likely to be. Probably it is 
submerged, as I believe is generally the case, 
though at what depth is another question. 
All the same, we are not far off it" 

That evening the engines were slowed 

deep-sea cable, but I was rather surprised to 
find the depth was not so great as I had 
fancied. Captain George descended from 
the bridge and joined me* 

* fc To-morrow morning we will get the long- 
boat out, if the weather holds fine,'' he said. 
" Vou will have to proceed more to the south 
before you make your first descent" 

I confess I did not sleep much that night. 
My mind was too full of the mystery of this 
ocean rock, Was the story true? Did the 
terrible spot really lie within reach of us? 
If so, what an appalling sight would meet 
my view when I stood beneath it T and gazed 
around at the havoc it had wrought ! I felt 
I might be on the verge of some startling 

I lay awake till long after midnight. Then 
I determined to get up and go on deck, As 
I passed Captain Georges cabin, I could 
tell by his heavy breathing that he was 
sleeping soundly* I moved on, and stepped 
out into the cool night air. 

How well I can recall the scene from the 
Wttnderer" s deck at that silent hour ! The 
moon was on the wane ; she was wading 
slowly through a mass of dark clouds, emerg- 

by Google 




ing occasionally to flood the ocean with her 
silver light. Not a sound was to be heard 
save the melancholy moan of the sea, or the 
splash of the water against the yacht's side. 
There was a man in the bows, but evidently 
the scene had little attraction for him. I could 
hear a faint " Heigh-ho ! " now and then, 
apparently following a deep yawn, and saw 
him cast an occasional look at the moon 
as if to mark how the time was going. It 
was three o'clock before I returned to my 

In the morning I felt more like myself; 
perhaps I was too busy with my prepara- 
tions to think much of anything else. 
Following Captain George's directions, we 
rowed away to the south, and when we got 
about half a mile from the yacht, I went 

On reaching the bottom, I stood for a minute 
or two looking around me. Which direction 
should I take ? I struck out to the right, 
and made a wide circle, but there was nothing 
unusual to be seen. The bed was hard — 
rising and dipping here and there, with loose 
rock lying about, and hardly any weeds. I 
paused again. I tried to remember in w T hat 
direction the yacht lay, and moved, as I 
thought, away from her. I walked on and 
on, until it was time to ascend, and on 
getting to the surface found I had wandered 
east of the vessel. 

" Try further south this afternoon," said 
Captain George, when I made my report. 
." By-the-way, what did those loose rocks look 

14 Most of them were rough and jagged," I 
replied. " In some places they were thrown 
together in heaps, and in others only two or 
three were to be seen." 

" Ah, I thought so ! Don't despair, 
Lawrenceson, you're not far from the mark." 

At three o'clock I made a second descent, 
a good deal further to the south. Soon after 
I touched the bottom, I found something 
that aroused my interest. It was an iron 
stanchion, evidently torn from a vessel which 
must have foundered close at hand. I went 
on, and then stood still. 

What was it made me pause? I scarcely 
knew at first, but I h\da sort of instinctive 
feeling that I was near some unseen danger. 
I moved on very cautiously, and halted a 
second time. With a strange sense of awe 
stealing over me, I became aware of a singular 
circumstance, for which I could not account. 
There was a slight but peculiar tremor in the 
water around me, much like the vibration in 
the air after a distant peal of thunder. Once 

Digitized bytjOOg lC 

or twice, too, I fancied I felt a faint heaving 
in the ground under my feet. 

It was some little time before I could 
bring myself to proceed. I walked first 
ahead, then to the left, then to the right, and 
back again towards the point from which I 
had started. I made no further discovery. 
Sometimes the tremulous motion in the water 
seemed to grow more distinct; frequently it 
died away until it was hardly perceptible. I 
was puzzled. I thought it better to go up, 
and see whether Captain George could give 
any explanation of this singular occurrence. 

" You were within reach of the rock," he 
said, when he had heard what I had to tell. 
"The next time you go down, try and 
ascertain from what point that tremor 
proceeds. Follow in this direction ; it will 
lead you to your goal." 

The next morning I set out again. I was 
now thoroughly bent upon pushing on with 
the search, no matter what risks might lie 
in the way. I had placed a buoy over the 
spot where I had descended the previous 
day, and told the men to keep rowing slowly 
to the south while I was under water, for 
that was the direction I determined to take. 

I still noticed that strange tremor I have 
described, but I soon grew accustomed to it, 
and walked boldly ahead. As I proceeded 
the disturbance increased, the ground seemed 
to sway under me ; it was as if waves of 
motion were passing beneath my feet. Once 
or twice I felt half inclined to turn back ; I 
was just a little bit — well, I remembered 
I had a wife and family depending upon me, 
and it looked like tempting Providence to 
proceed further. But I set my teeth hard, 
and pressed on. 

Presently, the ground began to shelve 
downwards. The commotion around me was 
now so great that at times I had some 
difficulty in keeping my feet. I was nearing 
the awful spot, then ! I grew reckless. I 
cast aside ever} 7 fear. If I succeeded in 
locating this rock, what an inestimable 
service I would render to mankind ! 

As I descended into a kind of hollow, I 
became aware of something like a dark wall 
rising before me. At first I thought it was 
the rock ; but, no ! it was long, low, and 
regular in outline. I approached it ; then I 
gave a sort of gasp inside my helmet. Good 
heavens ! it was a ship ! 

A big steamer, too ! What a sight she 
presented, as she lay there on her side, rising 
and falling with the undulating motion of the 
ground ! Her masts and funnels were gone, 
her decks torn up, and her bows battered in, 




almost down to the foremast. Around her, 
the place was littered with wreckage, cargo of 
every description, and the bones of her 
gallant crew* What was her name ? I 
groped my way round to the stem, held up 
my lamp j and read — " On i aria y Liverpool" 
Scarcely had I left her, and moved further 


along the hollow, than another hull appeared 
in sight A sailing ship this time \ After 
that, almost every step I took brought me in 
view of a sunken vessel. They lay scattered 
around in all directions, and in all positions ; 
some mere shells, others just beginning to 
break up, and a few which showed they 
had been afloat within the last year or 
two. The battered bows of each told the 
same terrible story. Ships of every size 
— and almost of every nation, I suppose 
— were huddled together in this awful valley 
of death. Here stood the remains of an old 
three-decker, and by her side lay the skeleton 
of a small vessel, not much bigger than a 
schooner. I turned away ; 1 had seen 
enough ! 

At the opposite side from which I had 

Digitized by dOOgle 

approached, I noticed there was an upward 
tendency in the ground, I determined to 
proceed in that direction. After walking for 
a few minutes, the ascent grew steeper. I 
made slow progress, and was nearly hurled 
back into the hollow more than once. I 
went down, and tore an iron bar from one of 
the vessels. Armed with this, 
I renewed the attempt, and 
found it afforded me great 
assistance in the climb. 

Steadying myself with the 
bar, and taking advantage of 
every piece of projecting rock 
which might aid my ascent, I 
crept up the steep slope. On 
I went, panting, and half- 
stifled, not daring to pause 
lest I should be swept away 
by the strong current which 
seemed to beat down upon 
me from above. At last I 
reached a sort of narrow plat- 
form, and stood there, With my 
bar thrust into a crevice. I 
looked up. Above me rose a 
great, towering, irregular mats 
of solid rock ! 

I scarcely remember how I 
got back to the boat, for I was 
feeling terribly exhausted, and 
my head was dizzy. When I 
reached the deck of the yacht, 
it was only to drop into the 
nearest seat. I must have 
looked scared and white, for 
Captain George hurried to my 

u Whatever is the matter, 
I^awrenceson ? " he said. "You 
look as if you had just escaped 
from the jaws of some sea monster." 

" I have escaped from the jaws of death 
itself!" I replied. 

" You found the rock ? M 
" I did." 

He turned hastily, and gave an order to 
one of his men, who darted away towards 
the saloon. Presently the man came run- 
ning up with a glass and a bottle of 

"Here, swallow off this," said Captain 
George, handing me a pretty stiff dram. " I 
can well imagine the sight was enough to 
give any man a bit of a shock/' 

After dinner he made me go through the 
whole story of my adventure that morning. 
He listened attentively, never interrupting 

me once. «, ■ 

Original from 




11 Just as I thought," he said, when I had 

He rose from his seat, and walked up and 
down in silence, as iF pondering deeply over 
what he had just heard, 

u Do you know, I.awrenceson," he said, 
suddenly, halting before me, " I would like 
to go down and have a look at the place 

"Don't do it, Captain George/' I replied, 

"Why not? It is not often a man gets a 
chance of witnessing a sight like that. The 
risk, if there is any, does not deter me. I 
shall ask for the loan of your diving-dress this 
afternoon, and make the attempt/' 

I knew he was not the sort of man to be 
lightly turned from his purpose, so I had to 
give in. I told him he would have little 
difficulty in finding the spot, as the boatmen 
had stationed a buoy over it, I did not 
accompany him, for 1 was feeling a bit out of 
sorts , and lay down on a couch in the saloon. 
I was soon fast asleep. 

An hour or two later I was aroused by a 
step on the cabin stairs. I looked up and 
saw Captain George entering the saloon. 
He went straight into his own 
cabin, without even glancing 
in my direction. 

When he had changed the 
diving-dress for his ordinary 
yachting suit, he came out 
mto the saloon and sat down. 

"Well, Captain George, 
what did you think of it?" 
I asked. 

" It might well be called 
'The Graveyard of the 
Oct-an, 1 '" he replied, solemnly. 

There was silence for a 
minute or two, then he 
said : — 

" That three-decker must 
be the old Redoubtable, I 
fancy, She left Bermuda in 
the autumn of '63, and has 
long been returned as £ miss- 
ing ' at the Admiralty." 

After another pause, I 
ventured to say ;— 

" Now that we have found 
the rack> what's to be done 

" Blow it up," he answered, 

I looked at him in amaze- 

"I have brought out a 

Digitized by dOOgle 

quantity of tonite for this very purpose," he 
went on. i£ It is a rather powerful explosive, 
four times the strength of ordinary blasting 
powder, and equal to No* 1 dynamite. As 
the rock appears to be fissured, it will save 
us the trouble of boring. The cartridges 
must be incased in waterproof packing, or 
india-rubber bags. When you have laid the 
charges, we can retire to a distance, and 
explode them by means of an electric cable 
and battery. If we even succeed in splitting 
the rock, it would answer our purpose." 

1 entered heartily into the scheme, for my 
whole thoughts were bent upon getting rid 
of the danger. Though I might have to 
encounter some risk in placing the charges, 
it was a small matter compared to the 
advantages that would follow if we were 
successful For several days I was busily 
engaged in inserting the powerful cartridges, 
and as I had some experience of this kind of 
work, I laid the charges so as to give the 
explosion the greatest effect possible. 

At last the work was completed, the cable 
laid, and all in readiness for the final moment. 
It was a bright, sunny afternoon, I remember, 
not much like the general run of October 





days, I looked around the wide expanse of 
ocean. Not a sail was in sight. 

The Wanderer had weighed anchor that 
morning, and had full steam up, ready to 
depart for home. Captain George stood on 
deck, with the battery before him. He was 
about to attach the ends of the cable. 

was done, 

"Now," he said, when it 
11 prepare to see the last of this 
mysterious rock ! " 

I kept my eyes fixed upon 
the spot where the buoy still 
marked the position of the rock. 
Suddenly a column of water rose 
intt) the air, and we heard a 
dull report as of distant thunder. 
But we were little prepared for 
the full result. Almost instan- 
taneously with the first report — 
so quickly, in fact, as to appear 
part of it — came the roar of a 
mighty detonation that shook 
the yacht from stem to stern. 
A vast body of water was 
flung to a height of several 
hundred feet, and carried with 
it huge masses of rock, some of 
which fell thirty or forty yards 
away. It was a grand, but an 
appalling, sight ! Never before 
had I witnessed such a mighty 
upheaval. The foundations of 
the sea seemed to have been 
torn up. 

The commotion on the sur- 
rounding surface was so great 
that the Wanderer was lifted on 
an immense ridge of water, and 
carried away at such tremendous 
speed we had to hold on to the 
taffrail to keep ourselves from 
being dashed across the deck, 
When all was still again, Captain 
George turned to me, and said : — 

" We didn't count on the pent- 
up forces which lay beneath that rock. The 
explosion of the tonite must have given 
them vent and they finished the work more 

completely than we ever could have done. 
I expect there is little left either of the 
rock itself or the vessels that lay around 
it. Well/' he continued, gazing back towards 
the spot, from which the Wanderer was 
fast gliding away under full steam, '* I owe 
little to mankind and, as yet, mankind 
has owed little to me. Henceforth, how- 

^ Vr> ** S* ■ 


ever, those who traverse this sea will, 
without knowing it, be debtors to me for 
their safetv." 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives, 


Born 1834, 




9y5^ D.D. T is the second 


of the late 
Robinson Duckworth, Esq., of 
Liverpool He was born in 
1834, elected to an open scholar- 
ship at University College, Ox- 
ford, in 1853, and graduated 
B.A + in first class classical 
honours in 1857; he was after- 
wards elected a Fellow of Trinity, 
and was Assistant Master at 
Marlborough College from 1858 

(the lati 

Enuit x SL 

./..'■ u'h H'rod- 


AGE »$. 

Prrnn a PhtituffrapK. 

to 1860, and Tutor of Trinity College from 
i860 to 1866. In 1864 he was appointed 
Examining Chaplain to the late Bishop of 
Peterborough, and in 1866 was selected by 
Her Majesty as Instructor to His Royal 
Highness the late Prince Leopold. In 2867 
h<j was appointed Governor to H.R.H., and 
held that post for three years. On his 
retirement in 1870 he was appointed 
Chaplain-in-Ordinary to the Queen, and pre- 
sented to the Crown living of St. Mark's, 
Hamilton Terrace, N\W. He was appointed 
a Canon of Westminster in succession to the 
late Rev. Charles Kingsley in March, 1875. 
In the same year he was appointed Honorary 
Chaplain to the Prince of Wales, and in that 
capacity accompanied His Royal Highness 
to India. 

Digitized by ^iOOQ Ic 


From a FbrtQ W H«yrv** *hu*, St John'* Wood, 




JVglfl a Photo, kvl 


AGE J. [Frtmmaa Mrtrt. + Sidney. 


Born i860, 

of our most promising dramatic 
writers, was born at ManickviUe, in 
the neighbourhood of Sydney, 
New South Wales , and is the son 
of Mr. John Ritchie Chambers, who held a 
high position in the N.S.VV. Civil Service, 
At the age of fifteen he passed the Civil 
Service Examination at the Sydney University, 
and entered the Civil Service. In 1880, Mr. 
H addon Chambers paid his first visit to 
London, and very few years later the young 
aspirant found his literary work appreciated. 
His tales were generally of a dramatic turn, 

Af,E 1 3. 
Ft-ufpi « PfuttQ. b$ LHtrid Ssoit t £|tftt"pi 

and not a few have seen the footlights. A 
two-act farce from his pen, "One of Them, 3 ' 
was brought out at Margate. This was sue- 

ceeded by " An Open Gate," and was followed 
by an adaptation of Mr, Rider Haggard's 
" Dawn," produced at the Vaudeville with 
success. Mr, Beerbohrn Tree then suggested 
that the young dramatist should write a play 
for the Hay market Theatre. Four months 
later "Captain Swift* 7 was the result This 
was the turning-point of Haddon Chambers's 
career. " Captain Swift " was produced, and 

Frwm-a Photo, by Ijfonard Blake, B afimttr. 

met the public taste in a most remarkable 
mariner. Then came "The Idler," at the 
St James's, in 1891, and lat.T " The Honour- 
able Herbert/ 3 his latest successes being 
41 The Fatal Card," produced at the Adelphi, 
and " John-a-Dreams," at the Haymarket 

fhm a Photo. ty| rittistfQ fl^V, [Sarong Aw Yuri. 




tion, and we regret 
that her other 
works are too 
numerous to be 
mentioned here* 
Since the publica- 
tion of the two 
books she has be- 
come a familiar 
and favourite 
figure in literary 
and artistic circles. 

Frank a Phula. hu\ 

I W, l\ Glaubv* I""fi. 


(John Strange Winter.) 
known as John Strange Winter, the 
popular authoress of " Rootle' s Baby/' 
began her public literary career in 1874, 
and was for some years after then a 
prolific contributor to periodical literature. Her 
first publication in volume form was " Cavalry 
Lire," issued in 18S1, and which has since become 
so well known. In 1885 two stones from her 
pen, entitled i( Bootle's Baby" and "Houp4a, n 
appeared in the Graphic, and attracted great atten- 

ia|pf»<m- day. 



1 88 


" Queen of Bohemia, 1 * and " By Order of the 
Czar," The first-mentioned book enjoys an 
almost phenomenal popularity. Among his 

From PWb kf S. W* U'ryUe, iitvtnt Strut. 

Born 1839. 
eldest son of the late 
Hatton, founder of the 
shire Times ', for which 

is the 
his son 
began to write at an early age* 
Mr. Hatton first came to Ixmdon in i868 T to 
edit and reconstruct the Gentleman's Maga- 
MtM % which he conducted for some years. For 
seven or eight years he was the special cor- 
respondent in Europe of the Neiv York Times. 

a<;e 34. 
Frttma Phvto. hg J + (/A*if a H roadway, A>» Tork. 

miscellaneous works are "Toole's Reminis- 
cences," "Old I^amps and New/' "Joseph 
Needham's Double/' etc. He is also the 
author of several successful plays. 


■ l.'innjJurv 

Mr* Hatton is T however, better known as a 
novelist than as a journalist. His principal 
"Clvtie," "Cruel London," 
Kenrick," "Three Recruits," 

.^ed by ^QOQvc 

stories arc 
€< Christopher 

PKElit^T DAY* 

From a rtato. '-u iw /tn dts W* »/!*, Jtqpenf Strut. 




From a f'hvto hit] ACE a, fr.£tofffc 


Born 1864. 

TON, 7th Duke of 
Newcastle, who 
succeeded to the title at the 
age of fifteen! was educated at 
Eton and Magdalen College, 
Oxford, and married Kath- 
leen, only daughter of Major 
Candy. He is an enthusiastic 
amateur photographer, a hobby 
which he took up about four 
years ago, is owner of the 
gorgeous gipsy-caravan, ''The 
Bohemian/' in which he re- 
cently made a photographic tour of Kent, 
Sussex, and Hampshire ; and in 1893, 

From a Ph*ia. fry. ac.E iy. [UiUm Jr SQurtUm. 

accompanied by Mr, Gambier 
Bolton, he made a tour round 
the world, visiting America, 
Canada, the Sandwich Islands, 
Japan, Java, Malay Peninsula, 
Burmah, and India. He has 
recently been elected on the 
School Board for the City of 
London, and is interested in 
matters ecclesiastic and schol- 
astic, and is a Vice-President 
of the English Church Union. 


I Ruutii <* &mi 



From a Pkata. ty] 

IIHXU A Sounder*. 


Born 1849. 

whose untimely demise has 
called forth universal regret, was 
educated at Morton College, Oxford. He 
represented Woodstock from February, 1874, 

From a FJtQto* bij] 

age 3S. 

JffUtoH <t Fry. 

he made himself conspicuous in the House 
of Commons and on public platforms by the 
excellency of his speeches ; during Lord 
Salisbury's Cabinet of 1885 he filled the post 
of Secretary of State for India, He was Lord 
Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of 
the House of Commons in 1886. Of recent 
years, owing to failure of health, Lord 
Randolph took little part in active politics. 

AGE ak 
Pram a PAoiu. ty A. Bauuno. 

until April, t88o, and again from that time 
until November, 1885, and was afterwards 
returned for South Paddington, From 1SS0 



Some Curiosities of Modern Photography. 


By William G, FitzGerald. 

graphy has indeed given us 
many scientific curiosities. 
Deeming the ordinary animal 
and other photographs of this 
description too well known to 
need special mention, I pass to the decapitated 
mule which is here depicted (Fig. i), and 
which certainly is one of the most extra- 
ordinary photographs ever taken. The mule 


was an old and worthless one which was 
about to be destroyed ; therefore it was 
decided to sacrifice the animal upon the altar 
of science, the high priest on this occasion 
being Mr, Van Sothen, photographer in 
charge at the United States School of Sub- 
marine Engineers, Willett's Point, New York, 

The mule's head was to be 
blown off with dynamite, and 
the wires that conveyed the 
electric current to the cart- 
ridge round the animal's neck 
were also employed to pro- 
duce a simultaneous action of 
a photographic shutter. As 
seen in the accompanying re- 
production, the mule is just 
about to fall, and the rope 
by which it was tied to the 
stake has not had time to 
show the slightest movement 

For the amazing details of 
the photography of flying 
bullets and other projectiles, 
travelling possibly at a velo- 

zed by GGOgle 


city exceeding 1,400 miles an hour, I am 
indebted to Professor C V. Boys, F.R.S,, of 
the Royal College of Science, South Ken- 
sington. Fig. 2 shows a bullet from a 
magazine rifle immediately after having left 
the muzzle. 

Now, I have no desire to puzzle my 
readers with elaborate descriptions of Pro* 
fessor Boys' electrical apparatus ; therefore, 
I will simply say that the photographs 
here given, resulting from the 
experiments, are only photographs 
of the shadows of the bullets. 

A word concerning the electric 
spark used by this scientist is 
absolutely necessary, Not only 
did such sparks as were used 
by Lord Rayleigh and Professor 
Worthington last much too 
long, but a spark that was 
extinct within the 7-1,000, oooth 
of a second was hardly suitable 
for bullet photography* Professor 
Boys first provided an electric 
spark whose duration was rather 
less than the i-io,ooo,oooth of 
a second ; in other words, that 
duration bore the same proportion to a 
second that a second does to four monffis. 
While this spark lasts, a bullet from a 
magazine rifle, travelling at the rate of 
3,000ft. in a second, cannot go more than 
1 -400th of an inch, 
Professor Boys set up his apparatus in one 
of the passages of the college. 
The bullets were received in a 
box of tightly packed bran, 
five feet square, after having 
passed through an old pack- 
ing case ; and the spark was 
produced by the projectiles 
theniseh'es severing some fine 
lead wires and thus complet- 
ing the circuit. No camera 
entered into the experiment. 
Martini- Henry and Service 
rifles firing cordite ammuni- 
tion were used ; also a choke- 
bore sporting gun, and a 
rifle carrying an aluminium 
ball whose speed was 2,000 

miles an hour. 





The air waves caused by the bullets are 
clearly defined; and in that photo, which 
shows a plate of glass being struck, one may 
see the splinters flying backwards (Fig. 3), 
As in the case of falling drops, Professor 
Boys took photographs of various stages of 
flight In one picture is seen the magazine 


bullet immediately after having passed through 
the glass ; It is thickly coated with bristly 
particles (Fig. 4). A little later on we 
see it comparatively clear of glass splinters, 
but accompanied by the piece punched 
out on the first contact This piece of glass 
has an air wave all to itself, and is evidently 
bent on accompanying its liberator (Fig. 5}, 
A discharge from a shot gun is depicted 
in Fig. 6. The wad is seen behind the 
shower of bullets. 

I may say that the photography of pro- 
jectiles commenced shortly after the Crimean 
War, when experiments were conducted by 
the War Department at Woolwich Arsenal. 
That was in 1S58, Wires were placed across 
the muzzle of a mortar throwing a thirty-six 

inch shell (the "Palmerston Pacificator"), and 
a photograph of its flight was electrically 

Submarine photographs of sponge-fishing 
in the Greek Archipelago have been taken 


by a French savant. The accompanying 
reproduction (Fig, 7), Illustrating this 
industry > was kindly lent me by Mr, W. A. 
Gorman, of the eminent firm of sub- 
marine engineers, Messrs. Siebe and 
Gorman, This curious view is said to be 
made up of two photographs, one taken 
above water and one below. 

The beginning of photography in 
the bowels of the earth may be traced 
to Mr. Breta, of the Kohinoor Colliery, 
Shenandoah, Pennsylvania* That clever 
engineer's apparatus consisted of a 
number of tin reflectors shaped to 
parabolic curves, which concentrated the 
light produced by from six to ten 
inches of ordinary magnesium ribbon. 


by LiGOglC 

tl*S. 6, — DISCHARGE FifOM SHUT Ol i* r *»HU>YIMJ WAD* 





Later on, an installation of electric light was 
placed in the mine, the five arc lamps having 
a nominal power of 2,000 candles each. 

Although the light failed somewhat, out of 
seven exposures made, five negatives turned 
out welL An exposure of from eight to 
thirty minutes was allowed, and pyrogallic 

acid and carbonate of potash were used for 
developing. Mr. Bret/, by the way, now 
uses an ordinary flash-lamp, and on a recent 
occasion, when he burnt eight or nine ounces 
of powder, he succeeded in obtaining a 
negative measuring 22m, by i8in, — the 
largest subterranean photograph ever taken. 

VoL u.-xa. 

ml!0fK' u 






War balloons will no doubt figure largely 
in the coming European war, and as will bo 
seen from the photographs reproduced here 
{Figs. 8 and 9), it is possible to obtain a com- 
plete map of the enemy's country in this 
way. Balloon photography, however, has its 
drawbacks. Captain Mantcll, R.E + , who 
turned aeronaut during the autumn manoeu- 
vres at Aklershot, declares he had to tie his 
camera loosely to the car> which swayed and 
rocked violently. 

While on the subject of war, it is interest- 
ing to note that photo- mierographie messages 
were in 1870 and 1871 conveyed to and from 
beleagured Paris by means of pigeons. On 
a single film of collodion, weighing kss than 
a grain, there were more than 3,000 despatches* 
Sixteen folio pages of printed matter, reduced 
to microscopic photographs, were secured to 
the tail feathers of one of these ornithological 

messengers, each of whom could in this way 
carry u despatch of a million words if neces- 
sary. I reproduce 
here, by kind per- 
mission of M + Dagron 
of Paris, a facsimile 
of an original film con- 
taining photo-micro- 
graphic despatches 
sent from beleagured 
Paris (Fig. 10), 

The expert in 
foreign stamps has 
in photography a 
powerful ally. The 
searching eye of the 
camera brings out 
the crude lines of 
bogus varieljjftgfflgii^c 

cvenw fiNfWtePTOFMIC!!ieAN 


f 9S 

scope itself fails to reveal a chemically 
obliterated post-mark, the ghostly strokes 
appeal to the sensitive plate. 

Gal ton's fingerprint method of identifica- 
tion, which has been grafted on to the 

HA flD. 


Bertillon system for use in our police depart- 
ments, has proved its efficacy in a rather 
curious way in America. A packet of paper 
money was tampered with in transit 
between New York and New Orleans, two 
seals having been broken open and the notes 
extracted ; one seal was afterwards re-fastened 
by thumb pressure. 

The expert who examined the package had 
thumb impressions taken of all the Express 
Company's employes on that route. The 
impressions were then magniBed by photo- 
graphy, compared with the seal mark, and 
the delinquent easily discovered. 

Enlarged photographs of merchants * books 
that have been passed by accountants have 
been exhibited in court, and the breaking- 
up of the paper fibre caused by fraudulent 
erasure has been clearly shown. 

The reproduc- 
tions shown here 
illustrate the 
system of photo- 
graphing the 
hands of sus- 
pected criminals, 
for the purpose 
of identification. 
Fig. 1 1 depicts 
the hand of an 
engraver, and 
Fig. 1 2 that of 
a coachman. The 
hands of the latter 
distinctly show 
the corns caused 
by the reins. 

A curious use 
was found for 
photography at 
the Naval 

Academy of Annapolis, in Maryland, The 
principal instructor could not induce the 
students to remain still during gun practice; 
they would start violently and stop their ears. 
Therefore the chief officer took a number 
of instantaneous photos., showing 
the cadets in " undignified and un- 
wurlike attitudes* 3 ' These pictures 
were hung up in the academy, and 
the young men thenceforward forced 
themselves to keep still during gun 
fire, for very fear of the camera. 

Heirlooms, wills, and fortifica- 
tions are photographed; so are all 
alterations made by overseers of 
estates abroad owned by gentlemen 
residing in thk country, Mr. Traill 
Taylor possesses an orange gi ove of 
a hundred acres in Florida, and his foreman 
in that sunny State hardly cuts down a tree 
without showing the whole thing to his 
master in a photograph. 

The camera is even called upon to decide 
the genus of prehistoric fauna. When the 
geologist discovers indistinct marks upon 
certain strata, and has reason to believe that 
such marks were made by animals of bygone 
ages, he rakes a photograph of the spot, and 
on developing his plate he finds the lines 
brought out most clearly. Here, for example, 
is a section of a rock bearing the footprint of 
the eheirothcrium, an extinct reptile (Fig, 13). 
This rock was found at Storeton, in Cheshire. 
Contemning the photo-maniac who causes 
photographs of himself, his wife, and his near 
relations to be reproduced on the family 
china, Mr. Traill Taylor tells an interesting 

r >-v*e«„™ wc footf^I ^^ m\ |?h^|*H^N 



story of the wonders of applied photography. 
An English gentleman had a big apple-tree, 
of which he was inordinately fond, trained 
against his garden walL Fearful of pruning 
it himself, however, he took a sharp photo., 
and sent it to an expert gardener at Hyeres — 
it might have been Timbuctoo. In due course 
the photo, was returned, showing certain 
pencil marks through numerous branches, 
'these the gentleman had lopped off by a 
" handy man/' while he himself directed 
operations, photograph in hand, 

In many Continental cities where passports 
are required, the holder's photograph is 
impressed upon the document ; and at 
Taeoma, in Washington, electors are photo- 
graphed as they record their %otes. 

It may interest my lady readers to know 
that famous costumiers seldom place in the 
window their choicest confections in costume, 
or the last "sweet thing" in bonnets, lest 
perhaps the pirate pattern - seeker should 
come along with his or her (generally her) 
kodak. Then, again, patterns of costly lace 
have been photographically stolen without a 
camera at all, but simply by means of a sheet 
of paper rendered sensitive with bichromate 
of potash or nitrate of silver, and then dried, 
A sheet of glass completes the apparatus. 

Here is a curious 
photograph taken 
by Mr. Hepworth 
with a vertical 
camera {Fig, 14). 
It illustrates an 
equally curious in- 
dustry carried on 
by the wily Chinese 
at the expense 
of the guileless 
" foreign devil." 
Living pearl mus- 
sels are taken from 
the Chinese rivers ; 
little balls of wax 
or leaden gods are 
introduced intothe 
shells, and then 
the mussels are re- 
turned to their 
native element In due time the pellets and 
figures become coated with pearl ; the latter 
are sold at a huge profit, while the former are 
palmed off upon unsuspecting Europeans as 
real pearls of great si/e and faultless shape, 
Tha illustration shows shells filled with 
" pjarls " and the little figures of the god 

That eminent photo-micrographer, Mr. 

Digitized by GOOgIC 


Andrew Pringle s of Bex ley, and his brother, 
Mr, R, Hunter Pringle, were recently 
employed in an interesting manner by the 
Royal Commission on Agricultural Depres- 
sion. These gentlemen toured through the 
Ma Id on Division of Essex, taking photographs 
of land and farms that had gone out of 
cultivation. They returned with quite a 
host of pictures showing thistles growing in 
fields, and ruined farmhouses, which appealed 
to the Commission far more powerfully than 
the most eloquent speech would have done. 

The camera, as everyone knows, is one of 
the most indispensable articles in a war 
correspondent's outfit ; and as the battle- 
field of the future will be comparatively 
smokeless, the correspondent will be enabled 
to make still greater use of photography, Mr, 
Melton Prior states that he can make a 
sketch in less time than he can take a 
photograph ; yet the last time he was " on 
the war-path," Mr. Trior carried three 
cameras in his saddle-bags. 

By the way, if the records of the photo- 
graphy of the dead are not cheerful they 
abound in interesting detail and even comic 
incident. About five years ago a well-known 
Oxford Street photographer was sent for to 
photograph a woman in her coffin. When 

the picture was 
developed, one 
finger was found 
to be out of focus, 
"Now," argued 
the photographer, 
" if the body had 
slipped, the whole 
would be out of 
focus ; therefore I 
conclude that only 
the finger moved." 
He drove l>ack in 
a cab with a doctor, 
and it was then 
found that the 
woman was not 
really dead, but 
merely in a sort of 
a trance. This is 
a fact. 

The vagaries of the camera, too, are 
distinctly amusing, Mr. K P. Cembrano, of 
the Royal Photographic Society, shows a 
photo, of a tiny burn, or brooklet, in Scotland, 
on the banks of which is an equally small 
village. Yet up this little rill of water is 
steaming a colossal ironclad of the H&yal 
Sovereign class, with all her mighty guns and 
fighting towers, and thousands of tons dis~ 




placement Another whimsical photo, de- 
picted a castle in Edinburgh, out of the 
topmost windows of which a number of 
sheep were placidly gazing* 

The photograph reproduced in 
simply demonstrates that photography 


1 5 
can t 


by a combination of negatives, be made to 
depict that which is ipso facto impossible. 
The beautiful story of the girl who in this 
way prevented the Curfew Bell from ringing 
in order to delay the moment of her lover's 
execution is too well known to bear narration 
in deta !. 

The amateur photographer who is also an 
angler is well aware that his camera will back 
him up when boasting of his piscatorial 
prowess. One photo* I saw represented a 
huge fish, the length of which appeared to 
equal that of a arft rule, which was also shown. 
In reality the "take" was a little dace or 
carp j and while being photographed it had 

been held very close to the lens. The rule, 
of course, was taken some distance away. 

One of iny authorities was once engaged 
by both sides in a law case, A company, 
whom I will call the City Lands Improve- 
ment Company, wanted to abolish a certain 
court leading from Lombard 
Street to King William Street, 
and were willing to establish in 
its stead a passage through one 
of their own buildings. The 
company's plea was that the 
court was a dingy, not to say 
dirty, one, and furthermore, that 
it was haunted by loafers of 
questionable character. 

Counsel for the other side, 
representing merchants having 
offices in the court, stoutly 
maintained that the passage 
was well lighted and eminently 
respectable. Photographs w r ere 
handed in from both sides. 
The first photo, showed a 
narrow, disreputable - looking 
alley, strewn with rubbish and 
fallen hoarding ; the other pic- 
ture, however, showed the court 
in dispute to be a fairly broad, 
well-lighted City thoroughfare, 
frequented by merchants of 
thriving appearance. These 
photographs were taken for the 
House of Lords Committee, but 
the matter was amicably settled. 
Here is another case : The 
Shuttle Machine Company 
vacated their premises in Cheap 
side, and another sewing-machine 
dealer moved in. In order to 
trade upon the* established re- 
putation of the company, the 
second tenant left the old name 
on the windows and over the 
door, but added the word " Late " in very 
minute characters for his own protection. 

The Shuttle Company waxed wroth, 
brought an action, and engaged a photo- 
grapher to take a view of the offending shop- 
front from a tailor's window opposite. When 
this photograph was produced in court, it 
was handed to the presiding judge with a 
powerful glass, whereupon his lordship was 
able to perceive that what appeared to the 
eye to be a mere ornamental dash ? was in 
reality the protecting word ** Late/' The 
photographer himself, by the way, was not 
aware of this. The aggrieved sewing-machine 
company secured an injunction. 


j 98 


In Fig. 1 6 we have depicted a submarine 
explosion on the occasion of the removal of 
a dangerous rock at Hellgate, New York, 
Our next reproduction (Fig, 17) shows a 
tremendous dynamite explosion during the 
destruction of an old dock wall at Newport^ 

The most interesting law case ever decided 
by photography was that intrusted to Mr. J. 
Traill Taylor, The facts were as follows : 
A collision occurred in New York Harbour 
between a White Star and a Cunard liner; 
and wnen the collision seemed imminent, an 
amateur photographer on board the latter 
vessel took a snap shot of the approaching 
liner. Both companies put in claims for 

First of all, Mr. Taylor procured the 
dimensions of both steamers; the approxi- 
mate speed of both at the time the photo, 
was taken ; also the height of the masts. 
He then retired to a park at Crouch End f 
armed with compasses and measuring lines, 
and, subsequently, worked out a little mathe- 
matical problem, the vessels being represented 
by bricks. 

After a trip to the Mersey to satisfy him- 
self on a few minor points in the construction 
of a Cunarder, Mr. Taylor worked out his 
theory, based upon the fortuitous photograph, 
before the combined committees of both 

FIG. 16.— A SU&MAKISE EXIM "* 1 M, 


wtrfE^rrrw Michigan 



companies, using books this time to repre- 
sent the two vessels* 

One of the most eminent architects in 
the kingdom once showed the accompany- 
ing photograph (Fig, 18) to a number of 
his colleagues* Had they ever seen such 



nn exquisitely carved capital? They had 
not ; and they said so. Then arose dis- 
putes as to the precise nature of the 
architecture. Finally sundry big 
wagers were made, and then the 
architect gravely proceeded to ex- 
plain the structure of the column 

Y K,. H>. 

and its capital This he did by 
producing his Malacca walking-stick 
and a few sprigs of succulent 
brocoli, such as are seen in Fig. 19. 
Naturally enough, however, after 
many abstruse disquisitions on 

mediaeval architecture had been given on the 
subject of the mysterious pillar, this explana- 
tion of the photograph was received in silent 

That photography has made many changes 
in the painter's art, few can deny. Had 
Land seer been a kodaker, the paws of his 
massive lions in Trafalgar Square would not 
have been so faulty as they are; nor, possibly, 
would the eyes of his horses and dogs have 
been so large. In a general way, an artist 
can tell when photography has entered too 
largely into the conception of a painting ; 
for one thing, the perspective is somewhat 
distorted. However this may be, I am 
satisfied that * l Photography versus Art " 
is a sore subject with those concerned. 
Lady Butler was, I believe, the first English 
artist to portray a horse walking with three 
legs on the ground. Consequently, a small 
force of police were required to keep back 
the crowds that came to get a glimpse of her 
picture, "The Roll Call," when it was hung. 
Lady Butler took Mdssonier as her authority 
for this artistic innovation ; and it is common 
knowledge that the French Government pro- 
vided that great master with a little railway, 
in order that he could travel along the road 
with horses, sketching as he proceeded. 




As will bo occasionally seen in this article, 
certain experts devote themselves to particular 
branches of photography* The name of 
Captain Hayes is associated with equine pho- 
tography, and he himself has travelled all 
over India, China, and South Africa, armed 
with a hand-camera. As the result of an 
argument with Mr* John Charlton, the chief 
artist of the Graphic^ Captain Hayes once 
produced a photograph of a horse with all 
four legs on the ground, yet showing a de- 
cided sense of movement. 

All sorts of odd means are devised to make 
horses that are going to be photographed 
look smart The official photographer at the 
Royal Military Repository tells me he ha^ a 
shrill whistle blown at the critical moment j 
or the sergeant-major who assists him opens 
an umbrella sharply, causing the horse to 
prick up its ears. 

Fig, 20, " Canine Leap-frog," by Mr. 
Dresser, of Bexley, is one of the most 
successful instantaneous photographs ever 
taken, Infinite patience and ingenuity are 
required to get such pictures. 

Another famous animal photographer, Mr. 
Frederick Haes, found that the best way to 
get a good photo, of a rhinoceros was to 
direct the animal's attention to a boy clad in 
a bright blue coaL "Wild animals," adds 
Mr, Haes, "have a strange objection to a 
man in his shirt-sleeves." 

Certainly one of the most interesting mar- 
vels of photography is that the 
mysterious eye of the camera 
sees objects which are absolutely 
invisible to the human eye, the 
telescope, or the microscope. 

An expert can take a sheet 
of paper prepared with gelatine 
and bichromate of potash, and 
can photograph on it a secret 
letter, containing, it may be, 
treasonable matter. This done, 
he may sit down and write a 
garrulous letter about the crops, 
the weather, and the baby's 
health. The recipient, of course, 
cares for none of these things, 
but wets the sheet with plain 
water, holds it up to the light, 
and literally reads between the 
lines. When dry, the docu- 
ment defies detection, and it 
can be moistened and dried 
again as often as the recipient 

Mr. Traill Taylor tells me 
that a room which appears 

visually quite dark may be full of the 
ultra -violet rays of the spectrum, and, 
paradoxical as it may seem, photographs may 
be taken in that dark light Dr. Gladstone, 
F.R.S., has traced invisible drawings on 
white cardboard, the "ink" used being such 
fluorescents as mineral uranite and disul- 
phate of quinine. When photographed, the 
drawings have come out bold and clear. 

Mr, Taylor relates a funny story concern- 
ing a young lady of scientific, and at the 
same time mischievous, proclivities. 

This young lady painted upon her fair 
brow with fluorescent liquid a death's head 
and cross-bones, and she then demurely 
visited a photographer's to have her portrait 
instantaneously taken. All went well until 
the operator had developed the plate, and 
then it became evident that he was having 
a row with his assistant, whom he blamed for 
coating a dirty plate. After apologies, a 
second negative was taken, and then the 
operator fetched his master from downstairs, 
A third attempt was made, when sounds of a 
heated altercation were heard, followed by a 

The photographer, pale and excited, re- 
quested his fair sitter to withdraw, as there 
was electricity in the air which was unfavour- 
able to photography. The lady insisted on 
taking away a negative showing the hideous 
insignia on her forehead. It is a fact that 
the photographer requested the vicar of his 





parish to say a few prayers in his studio, after 
the departure of his mysterious visitor. I 
reproduce here a 
fair specimen of 
the result achieved 
from the union of 
the microscope and 
the camera. Fig, 
2 1 represents the 
tongue of a blowfly, 
of course, magni- 
fied many hundred 

Without express- 
ing an opinion of 
my own, I should 
like to touch upon 
the so-called psy- 
chic or ghost photo- 
graphy, conducted 
in the presence of 
a spiritualistic 
medium* When 
one learns, by the 
way, that Professor 
Crookes, KR.S., 
and Dr. Alfred 
Russel Wallace 

Vol. i*,~27. 

have investigated the subject, believe in it, 
and possess collections of spirit photos., one 
is almost tempted to think that there must 
be " something in iL" 

The best-known experiment in ghost pho- 
tography was conducted by Mr + Traill Taylor 
in the presence of the well-known medium, 
Mr, David Duguid — a truly reassuring name, 
at any rate. Mr. Taylor not only used his 
own unopened packages of dry plates and 
conducted the developing himself, but he set 
a watch upon his own camera in the guise of 
a duplicate one of the same focus. And yet 
ghosts appea red— spirits of departed friends, 
all nicely draped (Fig, 22). 

But, perhaps, when I turn to stellar photo- 
graphy the average reader will be able to 
form a more adequate conception of the 
man' els of modern photography* 

As well as peering into the depths of the 
earth and the sea, and making visible the in- 
visible, the omniscient eye of the camera 
defeats the telescope on its own ground, or, 
rather, in its own element. In an area which 
did not contain one visible star, ten thousand 
have been found by photography. We have 
photos, of lunar mountains, and egg-shaped 
masses of hazy nebulae which the human eye, 
aided by the most powerful telescope in ex- 
istence, could never have discovered {Fig, 23). 

Here is the weapon of the New Astronomy. 
A gigantic telescope, fitted as a camera, and 
carrying a plate of great sensitiveness, is 




exposed in the ordinary way, as a telescope 
only would be. The apparatus is driven by 
a huge clock, which causes the telescope to 
follow the stars for fifteen or twenty minutes, 
during which time a vast number of other- 
wise invisible astral bodies impress themselves 
on the plate The eye of the camera, be it 
noted, does not tire ; the longer it gazes, the 
more its sensitive vision takes in. The very 
composition of the stellar worlds has been 
determined by modem photography. 

The man who has tackled the photography 
of animal locomotion in the most extra- 
ordinary, and at the same time most 
thorough, manner is unquestionably Pro- 
fessor Muybridge, of Pennsylvania University. 
It is interesting to learn how this scientist 
came to adopt the business of his life. 

In 1872, Muybridge was official photo- 
grapher to the United States Government on 
the Pacific Coast, and while at San Francisco, 
a dispute arose between two wealthy residents 
as to whether a fast-trotting horse had at any 
moment his four feet off.the ground. 

After experimenting for a few days, taking 
as a mode! the celebrated trotting horse, 
"Occident," who trotted a mile in two 
minutes and sixteen seconds, about a dozen 
negatives were obtained, which plainly showed 
that for some portion of his stride, at least, 
the horse was entirely free from contact with 
the ground. Indeed, seeing that some trot- 
ting horses take a twenty-foot stride, it is diffi- 
cult to understand why the dispute ever arose. 

The api>aratus now used by Professor 
Muybridge consists of an electrically con- 
trol lei battery of twelve cameras, so arranged 

that a regulated succession oi exposures can 
be made in any given time. When conv 
pleted, his pictures are combined in an in- 
strument of his own invention called the 
zoopraxisrope, and projected on to a screen 
by an optical lantern, the result being that 
one finds it hard to believe one is not actually 
looking at the moving original 

When the professor lectured at the Royal 
Institution, there were among his audience 
the Prince and Princess of Wales and their 
daughters, the Duke of Saxe-Coburg, Sir 
Frederick Leigh ton, Professors Huxley, Glad- 
stone, and Tyndall, and the late Lord Tenny- 
son, On the screen before this imposing 
assembly horses walked, ambled, and leaped 
over hurdles in a perfectly natural manner; 
athletes and kangaroos jumped; birds flew; 
monkeys climbed trees ; and ladies danced 
and carried on a fan flirtation. Yet the 
majority of the photographs, seen singly, 
seemed to depict ungraceful and impossible 
attitudes, Fig. 24 shows a really extra- 
ordinary series of Muybridge's photographs. 
The famous mare " Sallie Gardner/' belong- 
ing to the well-known American sportsman, 
Inland Stanford, is shown running at a high 
rate of speed over the Palo Alto track. The 
negatives of these photographs were made at 
intervals of ajin. of distance, and about the 
25th part of a second. They illustrate con- 
secutive positions assumed in each 27m. of 
progress during a single stride of the mare. 
The vertical lines shown in the photograph 
were 27m. apart; and the exposure of each 
negative was rather less than the 2,000th 
part of a second. 

FIG* 2^— THE H0A5E ttf WQTIOW* 

by Google 

Original from 

A Silver Com. 

From the French of A. Roguenant. 

HEX Hector Merot left his 
office he found it was nearly 
midnight He was annoyed at 
having had to go back just to 
correct his proofs, but the week 
before, in one of his finest 
articles, an absurd printer's error had just 
taken away the effect of a phrase which had 
been his pride, and turned the whole thing 
into ridiculous nonsense. Since then he had 
made a point of going himself every night to 
look over the final proof. 

It was the beginning of winter, and a cool 
wind was blowing. As he passed along the 
Rue Montmartre on his way to the Boule- 
vards, it occurred to him that he would have 
a glass of something to drink before return- 
ing home to his lonely bachelor's quarters, 
He sat down at one of the tables outside a 
cafi^ and watched the passers-by while sipping 
his punch. When he had finished he put 
a silver coin on the table ready for the waiter, 
and turned round to pick up his stick* 

The lights inside the cafe were being put 
out, so that every- 
thing was beginning 
to look very dreary. 
Just as Hector rose 
a hand suddenly 
snatched up the 
silver coin, and the 
thief immediately 
d i sappeared r o u n d 
the corner of the 
next street In an 
instant Hector 
drew another coin 
from his pocket, 
threw it on the 
table, called to the 
waiter, and then 
started off in 

It was very evi- 
dent that the thief 
knew he was being 
followed, and it was 
also evident that he 
wa s inexperienced 
in his trade, for he 
ran on z.\i on, up 
one street and 
down another, com- 
ing out again a 


hundred yards away from the place he started 

Hector was interested, for he was too 
much of a Parisian not to know that the 
man in front of him was not an ordinary 
pickpocket. Hector himself knew all the 
side -st reels and passages thoroughly, and he 
suddenly turned down one, ran at full speed, 
and came out again under a lamp just as the 
wretched man reached it 

Both men stopped short, and Hector said, 
shortly, ** Give me back my money P The 
thief stood motionless, and the journalist 
saw, by the light of the street lamp, the 
saddest human face he had ever looked 

The man before him was apparently quite 
young, but his face was pale and pinched, 
and his black hair and moustache gave him 
a ghost-like look. His clothes were shabby, 
and he had altogether what the French 
describe as "the look of a drowned man." 
Hector, at the sight of such evident misery, 
felt as though he himself had been guilty 

of some crime, and 
when the wretched 
man held out the 
silver coin to his 
accuser, without 
attempting to offer 
a word of apology, 
but with an expres- 
sion of utter despair 
in his sunken eyes, 
our journalist could 
not find a word to 

He took the coin, 
put it in his purse, 
and then pressed 
the purse into the 
man's hand, and 
made off himself as 
though he had been 
the thief. 

After ten years 
of uphill w f ork and 
struggle, Hector 
had gained for him- 
self an important 
position as journa- 
list and art critic, 
His absolute sin- 
cerity and perfect 


m. (JACK M¥ 



competency had won for him golden opinions 
from the public, and his verdict on all matters 
connected with art and literature was always 
awaited with anxious impatience. 

In spite of his success and his fame, the 
first hard years of struggle had left their 
traces on him. There was always a touch of 
melancholy which he never quite succeeded 
in throwing off. He had seen the comedy 
of human life too near, and it is, alas ! no 
comedy for those who are behind the scenes. 

On this bright May-day, however, Hector 
was quite gay as he entered Ledoyen's 
restaurant. It was the opening day of the 
Salon, and there was an animated discussion 
going on among a group of artists, sculptors, 
and journalists as to the respective merits of 
the works exhibited this year. 

Hector's arrival made a sensation, and 

look positively radiant this morning* What 
has happened, and what have you been 
doing? ?) 

" Why ! precisely the same as everyone 
else. I have been looking at pictures and 
sculpture, but I have discovered one piece 
which has done me good for the whole day, 
A perfect masterpiece, an inspiration ! " 

Hector's friends listened eagerly, and at 
the neighbouring tables the conversation 
ceased, for it was worth while hearing what 
the great art critic had to say, and hearing 
it from his own lips before the papers got it 
the next day. 

" There certainly are some fine things this 
year in the Salon, but in my opinion there is 
one that surpasses all, one such as we only 
get once in about ten years — I mean Jean 
Meunicrt ( Wreck,' " 


many hands were held out towards him, 
Somewhat absently, and yet with the easy 
cordiality of a man accustomed to society, he 
answered the various greetings and then took 
his customary place at a small table, where 
Paul Nielssery, the young landscape painter, 
and Charles Zirtius, the aquarellist, were wait- 
ing for him, 

With these two friends Hector could 
always enjoy himself: he knew and sympa- 
thized with them thoroughly in their love of 
art and in their utter contempt for all that 
was mean or mercenary. 

"Why, Hector!" exclaimed Paul, "you 

Digitized by\jii 

A murmur of approval was heard from the 
other tables as Hector pronounced the young 
sculptor's name. 

Very soon the buzz of conversation was 
heard again, and Hector and his friends 
continued their repast, all three of them in 
the best of humours with themselves and 
with all the rest of the world. 

During dessert Charles Zirtius got up from 
the table and went across to the other end of 
the restaurant. He soon returned, accom- 
panied by a tall, handsome man of about 
thirty ; well dressed, and bearing the un- 
mistakable stamp of a gentleman* His 




dark, deep - set, brown eyes were full 
of restless energy, but there was an expres- 
sion of earnestness in thern which almost 
amounted to sadness. This morning, how- 
ever t his delicate t oval face was lighted up 
with happiness : Fame had appeared to him ; 
Glory had touched him with her wings, 

^Hector," said Charles, "I want to Intro- 
duce my friend to you, Jean Meunien" 

The journalist rose quickly and shook 
hands warmly with the young sculptor* 

"I must thank you," he said, "for the 
enjoyment I have had this morning. Your 
1 Wreck ' is a marvellous work of art, and I 
certainly think I have never felt so much plea- 
sure in seeing a piece of sculpture as in that." 

The artist drank in these words from the 
critic with delight, and, on Hector's invitation, 
he took a seat at the little table where the 
coffee was giving out its inviting aroma. 

During the conversation Hector looked 
hard at Jean, trying to recall where and when 
he had seen that refined face with the 
intense expression in its dark eyes. 

He thought of various acquaintances he 
had made at clubs, artists* studios, cafes; but, 
no, he could not recall having met this man 
before, and still the look in those eyes haunted 


by Google 

Finally, he decided that it must simply be 
a resemblance that he saw to someone else, 
and he got so interested in the conversation 
of the three artists that he forgot it at 
last, and ceased to ransack his memory. 
Gradually the tables around were deserted, 
and Hector called the waiter and paid the 
bill He left some change on the table for 
the waiter's pourboire, and seeing that he had 
not picked up a small silver coin half hidden 
by a plate, he called him back, saying, 
"Take this, too." 

Suddenly Jean Meunier looked at it and 
then at Hector. His pale face became still 
paler, the expression in his eyes still more 
intense, a shudder ran through him, and at 
the same time the memory of an utterly 
wretched face seen on a November evening 
by the light of a street lamp, ten years 
ago, flashed across Hector. They were 
all getting up from the table; he smiled 
sympathetically at the young sculptor, and 
held out his hand, which the- latter grasped 
and wrung silently, but with gratitude of his 
whole soul 

Hector and Jean w T ere from this day forth 
firm friends, and the sculptor told the story 
of the utter misery and poverty he had been 
in when Hectors timely and sympathetic help 
had rescued him from despair 
and his beautiful young sister 
from death. She was now 
twenty years old, 
bright f happy, and 
gay, the very sun- 
shine of his home. 
Hector was a 
frequent visitor at 
the sculptors stu- 
dio, and he often 
joined the brother 
and sister at their 
dinner-table. The 
tinge of melan- 
choly gradually 
disappeared from 
his face, and one 
morning the fol- 
lowing announce- 
ment was seen in 
the papers : ** The 
marriage of our 
Hector Merot, with 
Meunier, the sister 
of Jean Meunier, the well-known 
sculptor of * The Wreck,' is shortly 
to take place/' 

Original from 

eminent critic, 
Mile. Helene 

Illustrated Interviews. 

Bv Marie A. Belloc. 

,. 1 * 

HE author of "Round the 
World in Eighty Days/ 1 "Five 
Weeks in a Balloon," and 
many other delightful stories 
which cannot but have en- 
deared his personality to 
hundreds of thousands of readers in every 
part of the world, spends his happy, well- 
filled working life in Amiens, a quiet, French 
provincial town situated on the direct route 
from Calais and Boulogne to Paris. 

The humblest 
Amienois can 
point out Jules 
Verne's home. 
No. i , Rue 
Charles Dubois, 
is a charming, 
old -fash 10 n ed 
house, situated at 
the corner of a 
countrified street 
leading out of a 
broad boulevard. 
The little door 
let into a lichen- 
covered wall was 
answered by a 
cheerful - looking 
old bonne. As 
soon as she heard 
that I had come 
by appointment, 
she led the way 
across a paved 
bounded on two 
sides by a pic- 
turesque, irregu- 
la r building, 
flanked by the 
short tower which 
is so often a 
feature of French 
country houses. 

As I followed her, I was able to catch a glimpse 
of Jules Vernes garden, a distant vista of great 
beeches shading wide expanses of well-kept 
turf brilliant with flower-beds. Though it 
was Lite autumn, everything was exquisitely 

Frupra n Phtita. bv] 


neat and dainty, and not a stray leaf was to 
be seen on the broad gravel paths, where the 
veteran novelist takes every day one of his 
frequent constitutionals, 

A row of shallow stone steps leads to a 
conservatory hall, which, filled with palms 
and flowering shrubs, forms a pleasant ante- 
chamber to the beautiful sahn y where I 
was joined a few moments later by my host 
and hostess. 

As the famous author is the first to ac- 
knowledge, Mme* 
Jules Verne has 
played no small 
part in each and 
all of her hus- 
band's triumphs 
and successes ; 
and it is difficult 
to believe that 
the bright, active 
old lady, still so 
full of youthful 
vivacity and 
French esp/eg/erit, 
can really have 
celebrated over a 
year ago her 
golden wedding, 
Jules Verne, in 
his personal ap- 
pearance, does 
not fulfi 1 the 
popular idea of a 
great author. 
Rather does he 
give one the im- 
pression of being 
a cultured country 
gentleman, and 
this notwithstand- 
ing the fact that 
he always dresses 
in the sombre 

(C- HerUri, Ami*n*. 


black affected by 
most Frenchmen belonging to the professional 
classes. His coat is decorated with the tiny 
red button denoting that the wearer possesses 
the high distinction of being an officer of the 
Legion of (Efaipffyil fnstal he sat talking he 




Fruttt a l*hr*ln by\ 

auk 45, IL\ Herbert, AmieHt, 

did not look his seventy-eight years, and, 
indeed, appeared but little changed since the 
large portrait, hanging opposite that of his 
wife, was painted some twenty odd years ago. 

M, Verne is singularly modest about his 
work, and showed no desire to talk about 
either his books or himself. Had it not been 
for the kindly assistance of his wife, whose 
pride in her husband's genius is delightful to 
witness, I should have found it difficult to 
persuade him to give me any particulars 
about 1m literary career or his methods of 

"I cannot remember the time/' he ob- 
served, in answer to a question, "when I 
did not write, or intend to be an author; and 
as you will soon see, many things conspired 
to that end* You know, I am a Breton by 
birth— my native town being Nantes— but my 
father was a Parisian by education and taste, 
devoted to literature, and, although he was 
too modest to make any effort to popularize 
his work, a line poet Perhaps this is why I 
myself began my literary career by writing 
poetry, which — for I followed the example of 
most budding I'Yench litterateurs— took the 
form of a five-act tragedy," he concluded, 
with a half-sigh — half-smile. 

* 4 My first real piece of work, however," he 
added, after a pause, (t was a little comedy 
written in collaboration with Dumas fils^ 
who was, and has remained, one of my 
best friends, Our play was called * Pailles 
Rompues' (Split Straws), and was acted at 
the Gymimse Theatre in Paris ; but, although 
I inurh enjoyed light dramatic work, I did 

not find that it brought me anything in the 
way of substance or fortune, 

" And yet," he continued, slowly, " I have 
never lost my love for the stage and every- 
thing connected with theatrical life. One of 
the keenest joys my story-writing has brought 
me has been the successful staging of some 
of my novels, notably ' Michel Strogoff' 

11 1 have often been asked what first gave me 
the idea of writing what, for the want of a 
better name, may be styled scientific romances. 

li Well, 1 had always been devoted to the 
study of geography, much as some people 
delight in history and historical research. 1 
really think that my love for mnps and the 
great explorers of the world led to my com- 
posing the first of my long series of geographi- 
cal stories. 

"When writing my first book, * Five 
Weeks in a Balloon,' I chose Africa as the 
scene of action, for the simple reason that 
less was, and is, known about that con- 
tinent than any other; and it struck me that 
the most ingenious way in which this portion 
of the world's surface could be explored 
would be from a balloon. I thoroughly en- 
joyed writing the story, and, ev^n more, I 
may add, the researches which it made 
necessary; for then, as now, I always tried to 
make even the wildest of my romances as 
realistic and true to life as possible. 



From q Photo flfl 

iKF-HfcNT l>av, W- flrrfcsrt, Amtma, 




"Once the story was finished, I sent the 
manuscript to the well-known Paris publisher, 
M. HetzeL He read the tale, was interested 
by it, and made me an offer which I ac- 
cepted. I may tell you that this excellent 
man and his son became, and have remained, 
my very good friends, and the firm are about 
to publish my seventieth noveL" 

"Then you passed no anxious moments 
waiting on fame ? " I asked. " Did your first 
book become immediately popular, both at 
home and abroad ? " 

" Yes," he answered, modestly. " ' Five 
Weeks in a Balloon' has remained to this 
day one of the most read of my stories, but 
you must remember that I was already 
a man of thirty-five when this book was 
published, and had been married for some 
eight years," he concluded, turning to Mme. 
Verne with a charming air of old-fashioned 

" Your love of geography did not prevent 
your possessing a strong bent for science ? " 

" Well, I do not in any way pose as a 
scientist, but I esteem myself fortunate as 
having been born in an age of remarkable 
discoveries, and perhaps still more wonderful 

"You are doubtless aware," interposed 
Mme. Verne, proudly, " that many apparently 
impossible scientific phenomena in my 
husband's romances have come true ? " 

" Tut, tut," cried M. Verne, deprecatingly, 
" that is a mere coincidence, and is doubtless 
owing to the fact that even when inventing 
scientific phenomena I always try and make 
everything seem as true and simple as 
possible. As to the accuracy of my descrip- 
tions, I owe that in a great measure to the 
fact that, even before I began writing stories, 
I always took numerous notes out of every 
book, newspaper, magazine, or scientific 
report that I came across. These notes were, 
and are, all classified according to the subject 
with which they dealt, and I need hardly 
point out to you how invaluable much of 
this material has been to me. 

" I subscribe to over twenty newspapers," 
he continued, "and I am an assiduous 
reader of every scientific publication; even 
apart from my work I keenly enjoy reading 
or hearing about any new discovery or 
experiment in the worlds of science, astro- 
nomy, meteorology, or physiology." 

" And do you find that this miscellaneous 
reading suggests to you any new ideas for 
stories, or do you depend for your plots 
wholly on your own imagination ? " 

" It is impossible to say what suggests the 

skeleton of a story; sometimes one thing, 
sometimes another. I have often carried an 
idea in my brain for years before I had 
occasion to work it out on paper, but I 
always make a note when anything of the 
kind occurs to me. Of course, I can distinctly 
trace the beginnings of some of my books : 
4 Round the World in Eighty Days ' was the 
result of reading a tourist advertisement in 
a newspaper. The paragraph which caught 
my attention mentioned the fact that nowa- 
days it would be quite possible for a man 
to travel round the world in eighty days, and 
it immediately flashed into my mind that 
the traveller, profiting by a difference of 
meridian, could be made to either gain or 
lose a day during that period of time. It was 
this initial thought that really made the 
whole point of the story. You will, perhaps, 
remember that my hero, Phineas Fogg, owing 
to this circumstance arrived home in time to 
win his wager, instead of, as he imagined, a 
day too late." 

" Talking of Phineas Fogg, monsieur : 
unlike most French writers, you seem to 
enjoy making your heroes of English or 
foreign extraction." 

"Yes, I consider that members of the 
English-speaking race make excellent heroes, 
especially where a story of adventure, or 
scientific pioneering work, is about to be 
described. I thoroughly admire the pluck 
and go-ahead qualities of the nation which 
have planted the Union Jack on so great a 
portion of the earth's surface." 

"Your stories also differ from those of 
almost all your fellow-authors," I ventured to 
observe, "inasmuch that in them the fair 
sex plays so small a part." 

An approving glance from my kindly 
hostess showed me that she agreed with the 
truth of my observation. 

" I deny that in toto? cried M. Verne, with 
some heat " Look at * Mistress Branican,' 
and the charming young girls in some of my 
stories. Whenever there is any necessity for 
the feminine element to be introduced you will * 
always find it there." Then, smiling : " Love 
is an all-absorbing passion, and leaves room for 
little else in the human breast ; my heroes need 
all their wits about them, and the presence 
of a charming young lady might now and 
again sadly interfere with what they have to 
do. Again, I have always wished to so 
write my stories that they might be placed 
without the least hesitation in the hands of 
all young people, and I have scrupulously 
avoided any scene which, say, a boy would 
not like to think his sister would read." 




" Before daylight wanes, would you not like 
to come upstairs and see my husband's 
workroom and study?" asked my hostess; 
11 there we can continue our conversation." 

And so, with Mme. Verne leading the 
way, we went once more through the light, 
airy hall, where a door opened straight on 
to the quaint winding staircase, which leads 
up and up till are reached the cosy set of 
rooms where M. Verne passes the greater 

colour of my host's yacht, the St. Michel \ a 
splendid little boat in which he and his wife 
spent, some years ago, many of the happiest 
hours of their long dual life. 

Opening out of the bedroom is a fine large 
apartment, Jules Verne's library* The room 
is lined with book -cases, and in the middle a 
large table groans under a carefully sorted 
mass of newspapers, reviews, and scientific 
reports, to say nothing of a representative 

collection of French 
and English periodi- 
cal literature, A 
number of card- 
board pigeon-holes, 
occupying however 
wonderfully little 
space, contain the 
twentyodd thousand 
notes garnered by 
the author during 
his long life, 

"Tell me what 
are a man's books, 
and I will tell you 
what manner of man 
he is," makes 


/Voth a Phuto. bjft 

the workroom: 

part of his life, and from where have issued 
many of his most enchanting books. As we 
went along the passages 1 noticed some large 
maps — dumb testimonies of their owner's 
delight in geography and love of accurate 
information — hanging on the wall 

"It is here," remarked Mme. Verne, 
throwing open the door of what proved to 
be a tiny, cell-like bed-chamber* "that my 
husband does his actual writing each morn- 
ing. You must know that he gets up at five, 
and by lunch-time, that is, eleven o'clock, 
his actual writing, proof-correcting, and so 
on, are over for the day ; but one cannot burn 
the candle at both ends, and each evening 
he is generally sound asleep by eight or half- 
past eight o'clock/' 

The plain wooden desk-table is situated in 
front of the one large window, and opposite 
the little camp bed; between the pauses of 
his work on winter mornings M. Verne, by 
glancing up, is able to see the dawn breaking 
over the beautiful spire of Amiens Cathedral, 
The tiny room is bare of all ornamentation, 
save for two busts of Moliere and Shake- 
speare, and a few pictures, including a water- 

Vol. ix.— 26. 

excellent paraphrase 
of a good old saying, 
and might well be 
applied to Jules 
l(LH#t Verne* His library 

is strictly for use, not 
show, and well-worn copies of such intellectual 
friends as Homer, Virgil, Montaigne, and 
Shakespeare, shabby, but how dear to their 
owner; editions of Fenimore Cooper, Dickens, 
and Scott show hard and constant usage ; 
and there also, in newer dress, many of the 
better-known English novels have found 
their way. 

" These books will show you," observed 
M. Verne, genially, " how sincere is my affec- 
tion for Great Britain, All my life I have 
delighted in the works of Sir Walter Scott, 
and during a never-to-be-forgotten tour in 
the British Isles, my happiest days were spent 
in Scotland, I still see, as in a vision, 
beautiful, picturesque Edinburgh, with its 
Heart of Midlothian, and many entrancing 
memories; the Highlands, world -forgotten 
lona, and the wild Hebrides. Of course, to 
one familiar with the works of Scott, there is 
scarce a district of his native land lacking 
some association connected with the writer 
and his immortal work." 

"And how did London impress you?" 
"Well, I consider myself a regular devotee 

of %Jl7ta^0f i MfePI , F:i^f s^ 1 river h 



Fr'itn ft Vh<tUi-, h\/\ 


Tfart, Atnifn*. 

the most striking feature of that extraordinary 
city/ 1 

** I should like to ask you your opinion of 
some of our boys 5 books and stories of 
adventure. Of course, you know England has 
led the van in regard to such literature." 

** Yes, indeed, notably with that classic, 
beloved alike by old and young, ' Robinson 
Crusoe ' ; and yet perhaps I shall shock you 
by admitting that I myself prefer the dear 
old * Swiss Family Robinson.' People forget 
that Crusoe and his man Friday were but an 
episode in a seven-volumed story. To my 
mind the book's great merit is that it was 
apparently the first romance of the kind ever 
perpetrated. We have all written ' Robinsons/" 
he added, laughing ; " but it is a moot question 
if any of them would have seen the light had 
it not been for their famous prototype*" 

" And where do you place other English 
writers of adventure ? " 

"Unhappily, I can read only those works 
which have been translated into French. I 
never tire of Fenimore Cooper ; certain of 
his romances deserve true immortality, and 
will I trust be remembered long after the so- 
called literary giants of a later age are for- 
gotten. Then, again, I thoroughly enjoy 
Captain Marryat's breezy romances. Owing to 
my unfortunate inability to read En^lish s 
I am not so familiar as I should like to be 
with May no Read and Robert Louis Steven- 
son ; still, I was greatly delighted with the 
latter's * Treasure Island/ of which I possess 

a translation. It 
seemed to me, 
when I read it, to 
possess extraordi- 
nary freshness of 
style and enor- 
mous power, I 
have not men- 
tioned," he con- 
tinued, "the 
English writer 
whom I consider 
the master of 
them all, namely, 
Charles Dickens/' 
and the face of 
the King of Story- 
tellers lit up with 
youthful enthusi- 
asm. U I consider 
that the author of 
'Nicholas Nickle- 
by/ ' David Cop- 
perfield,' and 
' The Cricket on 
the Hearth ' possesses pathos, humour, 
incident, plot, and descriptive power, any 
one of which might have made the reputa- 
tion of a less gifted mortal ; but here, again, 
is one of those whose fame may smoulder 
but will never die*" 

Whilst her husband was concluding these 
remarks, Mmc\ Verne drew my attention to 
a large book-case filled with rows of 
apparently freshly bound and little-read 
books. il Here," she observed, "are various 
French, German, Portuguese, Dutch, Swedish, 
and Russian editions of M. Verne's books, 
including a Japanese and Arab translation of 
( Round the World in Eighty Days/ " and my 
kindly hostess took down and opened the 
strange veil urn- bound pages wherein each 
little Arab who runs may read of the adven- 
tures of Fhineas Fogg, Esq. 

u My husband/' she added* u has never 
re-read a chapter of a single one of his stories. 
When the last proofs are corrected his interest 
in them ceases, and this, although he has 
sometimes been thinking over a plot, and 
inventing situations figuring in a story, during 
years of his life." 

u And what, monsieur, are your methods 
of work ? " I inquired. "I suppose you 
can have no objection to giving away your 
recipe ? " 

* h I cannot see," he answered, good- 
humour edly, "what inures t the public can 
find in such things ; but I will initiate you 
into the secrets of my literary kitchen, though 



Cv C^M, \11%,U»»9'» Y 4M ^ ijL ***** 


I do not know that I would recommend any- 
body else to proceed on the same plan ; for 
I always think that each of us works in his or 
her own way, and instinctively knows what 
method is best. Well, I start by making a draft 
of what is going to be my new story. I never 
begin a book without knowing what the begin- 
ning, the middle, and the end will be. Hither- 
to I have always been fortunate enough to 
have not one, but half-a-dozen definite schemes 
floating in my mind. If I ever find myself 
hard up for a subject, I shall consider that it 
is time for me to give up work. After having 
completed my preliminary draft, I draw up a 
plan of the chapters, and then begin the 
actual writing of the first rough copy in 
pencil, leaving a half-page margin for correc- 
tions and emendations ; I then read the 
whole, and go over all I have already done 
in ink. I consider that my real labour 
begins with my first set of proofs, for I not 


only correct some- 
thi ng in every 
sentence, but I re- 
write whole chap- 
ters. I do not seem 
to have a grip of 
my subject till I see 
my work in print ; 
fortunately, my kind 
publisher allows me 
every latitude as re- 
gards corrections, 
and I often have as 
many as eight or 
nine revises. I 
envy, but do not 
attempt to emulate, 
the example of 
those who from the 
time they write 
Chapter I. to the 
word Finis, never 
see reason to alter 
or add a single 

"This method of 
composition must 
greatly retard your 
work ? " 

" I do not find it 
so. Thanks to my 
habits of regularity, 
I invariably pro- 
duce two completed 
novels a year. I 
am also always in 
advance of my 
work ; in fact, I 
am now writing a story which properly 
belongs to my working year 1897 ; in other 
words, I have five manuscripts ready for 
the printers. Of course," he added, thought- 
fully, " this has not been achieved without 
sacrifice. I soon found real hard work 
and a constant, steady rate of production in- 
compatible with the pleasures of society. 
When we were younger, my wife and myself 
lived in Paris, and enjoyed the world and its 
manifold interests to the full. During the 
last twelve years I have become a townsman 
of Amiens ; my wife is an Amienoise by birth. 
It was here that I first made her acquaintance, 
fifty-three years ago, and little by little all 
my affections and interests have centered in 
the town. Some of my friends will even tell 
you that I am far prouder of being a town 
councillor of Amiens than of my literary repu- 
tation. I do not deny that I thoroughly enjoy 
taking my share in municipal government." 



"Then, have you never followed the 
example of so many of your own personages, 
and travelled, as you easily might have done, 
here, there, and everywhere ? " 

* ( Yes, indeed ; I am passionately fond of 
travelling, and at one time spent a consider- 
able portion of each year on my yacht, the 
St Michel Indeed* I may say I am devoted 
to the sea, and I can imagine nothing more 
ideal than a sailor's life ; but with age came 
a strong love of peace and quietude, and/ 1 
added the veteran novelist, half sadly, " I 
now journey only in imagination/' 

1 Doctor Ox ' formed the basis of an 
operetta at the Varietes some seventeen 
years ago. I was once able to superintend 
the mounting of my pieces myself; now, my 
only glimpse of the theatrical world is seen 
from the front, in our charming Amiens 
theatre, on the, I must admit, frequent 
occasions when some good provincial com- 
pany honours our town with its presence/ 1 

"I suppose," I observed to Mme, Verne, 
" that your husband receives many conimunU 
cations from his immense English consti- 
tuency of unknown friends and readers?' 1 

From a Fhoto. &f] 


{C. Herbert^ A.. u Hi 

ft I believe, monsieur, that you add the 
dramatist's laurels to your other triumphs ? " 

" Yes," he answered ; ** you know we have 
in France a proverb which declares that a 
man always ends by returning to his old love. 
Well, as I told you before, I always took 
a special delight in everything dramatic, and 
made my literary debut as a playwright, and 
of the many substantial satisfactions brought 
me by my labours, none gave more pleasure 
than my return to the stage*" 

"And which of your stories were most 
successful in dramatic form ? " 

" ( Michel Strogoff J was perhaps the most 
popular ; it was played all over the world ; 
then ( Round the World in Eighty Days r 
was very successful, and more lately 
* Mathias Sandorf 1 was acted in Paris; it 
may amuse you to know further that my 

u Yes, indeed," she cried, brightly ; "and the 
applications for autographs ! I wish you 
could see them. If I were not there to save 
him from his friends, he would spend most 
of his time writing out his name on slips of 
paper. I suppose few people have received 
stranger epistles than my husband. People 
write to him about all sorts of things: they 
suggest plots for new stories, they confide to 
him their troubles, they tell him their adven- 
tures, and they send him their booksJ 1 

"And do those unknown correspondents 
ever permit themselves to ask indiscreet 
questions about M. Verne's future plans ? " 

My good-natured and courteous host 
answered for her, " Many are so kind as to be 
interested in my next book ; if you share that 
curiosity, you mav care to know what I have 

no * wmm^r indmMes ' 



namely, that my next story will have for title, 
'L'lle H£lice J — in English, 'Screw Island' 
It embodies a set of notions and ideas 
that have been in my mind for many 
years. The action will take place on a 
floating island created by the ingenuity of 
man , a kind of Great Eastern magnified 
10,000 times, and containing, of course, the 
whole of what in this case may be truly 
called a moving population. It is my 
intention," concluded M, Verne, "to 
complete, before my working days are done, 
a series which shall conclude in story 

know, I have dealt with the moon, but a great 
deal remains to be done, and if health and 
strength permit me, I hope to finish the 

There was still half an hour left before the 
Calais- Paris train (once so eloquently de- 
scribed by Rossetti) was due, and Mme. 
Verne, with the gracious politeness which is 
so peculiarly the attribute of well-bred French- 
women, drove me to the beautiful cathedral, 
Notre Dame d'Amiens, a poem in stone, 
dating from the twelfth century* Within its 
stately walls the chance English tourist 

From a Photo. hu\ 


[C. lUrberU *l»H<nA 

form my whole survey of the world's sur- may, all unknowingly, see, any Sunday, 

face and the heavens; there are still the fine old man to whose pen he cannot 

left corners of the world to which my but have owed many happy hours as boy 

thoughts have not yet penetrated. As you or man. 

by Google 

Original from 

Card-Sharpers and their Work. 

By Harry How. 

HE series of articles which I 
recently contributed to this 
Magazine, under the title of 
tk Crimes and Criminals," in- 
duced me to spend many in- 
teresting and instructive hours 
at New Scotland Yard. As with the dynamiters 
and the burglars, the pick-pockets, and sundry 
other pilferers who are somewhat partial 
to helping themselves, so it is with that par- 
ticular class of folk of which I now propose 
to say something — you never know when you 
may expect them. 

There are degrees of card-sharpers, There 
is the little trio of enterprising fellows who 
are to be found in the railway carriages on 
their way to the racecourse — and they are at 
times even to be found on the racecourse 
itself One of them, at least, is always 
the most innocent-looking of bucolic country- 
men, the typical modernized John Bull, who 
invariably wins the stakes, and so induces the 
" outsider" to try his luck also ; and I have 
heard that before now an individual has 
been clothed in all the habiliments of a 
clergyman and staked his shilling or two on 
the picture, and, what is more, has wt»n. 
What more natural to the passenger ? Here 
is a benevolent-looking parson joining in the 
game — surely he does not know much about 
cards ?— he wins. Why should not the pas- 
senger have a little flutter with the pictures? 
He does ; and is sorry for it- 
All this is the common side of card-sharp- 
ing, and is popu- 
larly known as the 
three-card trick, 
It is worked in 
many ways, one 
favourite method 
being to turn up 
the corner of the 
picture card, which 
the victim-to-be 
endeavours not to 
lose sight of. Then 
the clever hands of 
the manipulator of 
41 the leaves from 
the devils prayer- 
book," with mar- 
vellous dexterity, 
straighten the 

turned-up corner of the merry little queen of 
hearts, and turn up the corner of the two 
of clubs. Most sensible people would think 
that this would be sufficient to warn the poor 
player, who is to be poorer still before he has 
finished. When the turned-up corner has 
been played sufficiently, a little bit of mud or 
dirt is substituted as a blind before the cards 
are dealt. There is no getting away from it. 
But there is no mud on the picture card 
when you make your choice, and you 
will find that somehow the mud has dis- 
appeared from the court card to one 
of very insignificant value. This is very 
simply done. One gentleman working the 
trick will shuffle the cards, show the one 
with the mud on, and hand the cards to a 
confederate, who removes the dirt, and puts 
it on another member of the pack, when 
they are displayed to entrap the speculative, 
though innocent, player* 

It is satisfactory to chronicle the fact 
that, in the opinion of detectives, the three- 
card trick, as we all know it T is disappear- 
ing. As one smart detective suggestively 
puts it, " There are not so many mugs about 
as there used to be*" This will, probably, 
be consoling to the public ! 

But there is the artistic side of card-sharp- 
ing, and during my recent visits to Scotland 
Yard, previously referred to, perhaps one of 
the most interesting of the exhibits there was 
a complete set of card-sharper's apparatus, 
which used to be frequently in use by astute 

Yankees on the 
American liners. 

These most in- 
genious contrivan- 
ces are the first of 
the kind ever seen 
in this country, and 
it is believed that a 
similar set has not 
reached these 
shores since. It is 
well to know that 
they will not be 
used again, at least, 
by the individual 
who possessed 
them, for he is now 
enjoying the hos- 





Majesty, at a residence especially erected for 
such persons, for the very comfortable period 
of twenty years. 

Before proceeding to diagnose the various 
items which go to make up this truly fear- 
fully and wonderfully made set of apparatus, 
it may be said that there evidently 
exists in America a recognised trade for 
turning out this particular class of work. 
We are ready to admit that our friends 
across the "herring pond" are exceedingly 
well gifted in the art of originating ideas, 
and it seems a pity that they should permit 
such contrivances as are about to be 
described to be made with impunity 
in their country. This is a somewhat sweep- 
ing assertion, but I have had an opportunity 
of examining 
closely and mi- 
nutely the ap- 
paratus j and the 
discovery was 
made of the name 
and address of the 
firm who made 
them, with a strong 
to all card-players 
to have them in 
their possession, 
and so be like 
Tommy Dodd - 
sure to win. 

First, examine 
the packs of cards 
to be used by this 
particular card- 
sharper, and in ex- 

amining them kindly remember 
that you are dealing with a man 
who is an artist himself at deal- 
ing a hand of cards. There are 
five or six packs of them, and 
they are contained in a nice- 
looking mahogany box, and kept 
intact with a lid (Fig. 1). The 
packs of cards have partitions 
between them. There is a small 
brass knob at the left han' 1 end 
of the box, with a screw attained, 
which is connected with the first 
partition of the first pack of 
cards. The proud possessor of 
this box knows that, by turning 
the knob, he screws the cards 
together. Now, there is method 
i n h i s sere wi ng. E ve ry al ter n a te 
card has been previously rubbed 
with a little sandpaper ; hence 
two cards stick together. Now comes the 
dealing. It is very easy for a smart dealer, 
such as we are treating with now, to either 
deal one or two cards. When he is dealing 
to a man he is desirous of swindling, he 
gives him one card and deals himself two. 
This gives him a choice of two cards, as they 
are very easily separated by the person work- 
ing the oracle. 

A further examination of these cards 
heightens the mystery considerably. The 
back of each card has some secret hiero- 
glyphic on it, which tells the card-sharper 
its exact value. These hieroglyphics lie 
hidden away in some part of the design on 
the back of the card, and the secret of the 
same is possessed alone by the owner of 

FN*, > — FOR THE 





them. Hence, there is a card-sharper's 
alphabet of fifty ~t wo designs — to say nothing 
of the designs he has upon the person he is 
playing with— so that, apart from the sharper 
having an exceptionally quick hand, he needs 
also to possess a very retentive memory* 

Seeing that the sharper will frequently 
have two cards, one of which he will use, 

while the other may possibly be useless, 
the question arises as to how he is to dis- 
pose of the surplus card. The sleeves of 
his coat may probably form a refuge for 
the non- usable card, and there is no 
doubt that even your sharper who sharps 
from the most artistic point of view 
by no means despises the coat-sleeve 
as a convenient "stow -away." But he 
has a far better and prettier method of 
getting rid of the superfluous card Close 
beside the box containing the packs is a 
piece of . machinery, consisting of two steel 
plates, very slightly curved, This is placed 
in the waistcoat pocket It also has a strap, 
in case it may be needed to fasten it any- 
where about the person. The interior of the 
plates contains a pair of what might be 
described as tongues, which will either snap 
up a card or give one out, as may be 

If the player desires to take a card from 
the table, all he has to do is to work a 
pair of small pulleys, by means of a piece of 
catgut, which runs down the leg of his 
trousers, and is fastened inside his boot. By 
moving his foot he manipulates the pulleys, 
the tongues slip out and receive the card, and 
so dispose of it. It is a very easy matter, 
in the excitement of the play, to remove 
the card from the tongue of the machine, 
and place it amongst the pack again (Figs. 
2 and 3). 

Although this particular apparatus is more 
often than not used for getting a card out of 
the way, it may, of course, be utilized for 
holding an ace, or a king, or a queen f or 
even a useful little jack within its grip, 





which will bob up 
serenely when the 
catgut is pulled But 
it is more often than 
not used to cause 
cards to disappear 
mysteriously. A 
glance at the illustra- 
tion will at once shovi 
how this very in- 
genious dodge is car- 
ried into effect. One 
cannot help regretting 
that such ingenuity as 
this should not be 
applied to some better 
purpose, and one's 
regrets are all the greater when an examina- 
tion is made of the little apparatus which is 
used to cap the trick of the unfortunate 
individual who may be pitted against its 
unscrupulous possessor. 

Possibly the reader may remember that, 
some fifteen or twenty years ago, a very 
favourite toy for the little ones was a number 
of soldiers stuck on a series of workable 
pieces of wood, which could be pressed into a 
small space, or shot out into a lengthy column. 
Here we have the exact principle on which 
this latter apparatus works. Whether its 
inventor founded it on the toy or not it is 
impossible to tell, but the operations of 
working are exactly identical In this case 
the instrument is constructed of brass, 
to which a strap with buckles is attached, 
This is worn just below the elbow 
of the left arm, and is usually called 
into play when a player w r ishes to hide 
a card, or to call one into action. More 
often than not, it 
is used for a re- 
serve force of aces, 
kings, queens, and 
jacks. The pic- 
tures are placed in 
a clip, and, when 
the apparatus is 
not in action, are 
completely hidden 
by the swindler's 
sleeve. He is just 
in the midst of a 
game. For once 
his unlucky partner 
has got the best of 
it ; it all depends 
on the value of the 
last card played, 
and fortunately — 

FIG. 0, — "KAHU BuX* 

or un for t u 11 a t ely — it 
is the sharper's turn 
to play. He knows 
the value of the card 
he has in his hand, 
he is fully aware of 
the fact that it is only 
a wretched four of 
diamonds, and he 
stands to win or lose 

possibly he has 
not been able, for 
once, owing to the 
shrewdness cf his 
opponent at this ex- 
citing moment, to tell 
the value of the card from the hieroglyphics 
amongst the flowers on the back, but he 
knows it all the same, for he has a little glass 
disc, which is resting on his knee — a precious 
little disc, a trifle bigger than a sixpence, and 
into this mirror he reflects the value of the card, 
which is instantly revealed to him — {Fig. 8.) 
His innocent opponent has played the jack 
of clubs ; but, bless you ! the sharper has a 
queen of clubs up his sleeve, in more ways 
than one. By a clever little piece of legerde- 
main the four of diamonds disappears into the 
waistcoat piece of mechanism. He presses his 
left arm on the table, the spring of the ap- 
paratus just described is released, the crossed 
steel bands, a la the soldier toy, spring out, and 
in less time than it takes to tell, the queen of 
clubs is in the hand of the player. Quickly 
raising his arm from the table, back go the 
steel springs, and her majesty of clubs caps 
the jack (Figs. 4 and 5). 

A word regarding a highly-polished nickel- 



plated box, which is used for playing the 
game called "Faro.' 1 It is evident that, in 
playing this game, a mechanical dealing-box 
is called into requisition ; but the sharper is 
not going to be beaten by this. He has his 
own Faro box made, which, to all out- 
ward appearance, is exactly the same as that 
used by an honest player It contains the 
usual pack of cards — there is not a suspicious 
sign about it. Quietly pick it to pieces, and 
the ingenuity of the whole thing is at once 
made apparent. 

The writer is not proficient at the game 
of Faro — indeed, has never played it in his 

are allowed to pass through (Figs, 6 
and 7). 

This very interesting item in New Scotland 
Yard Museum is further supplemented by 
what at first appears to be a most valuable 
roll of bank-notes. Not so, however ; it is 
simply an old pocket-book with the leaves 
frayed, to give it the appearance of a roll 
of notes which had been well used 
and their value proved by passing through 
many hands^ and covered over with what 
proves to be, on close inspection, a very 
Parisian pamphlet (Fig, 8), Stillj the effect, like 
the transformation scene, is capital from the 

J-IU- H. — Tfch.-Tl>-TUa! t LUg-fcLlNLi-GI.ASS DISC, AXD Sli,\M KOTfiS. 

life, or even seen it played; but it would appear 
that a proper Faro dealing-box allows one 
card to be dealt at a time, which is done by 
the two springs beneath the pack pressing 
up the cards to a narrow slit, so that, as one 
is taken out, the spring further pushes the 
pack up for another to be released. But the 
sharper believes in the old principle that 
two heads are better than one — and so are 
two cards; and by working a small lever in 
his own particular apparatus, which com- 
municates with a very minute spring, the 
space for the outlet of a card is increased 
to exactly double its width, and so a pair 

front. The card -sharper places these by his 
side, so that confidence is at once inspired. 

Before leaving this very elaborate set of 
card-sharpers' apparatus, play for a moment 
with the teetotum (Fig. 8). You give it a 
twist, but you never get more than a three 
or a four, and frequently not more than a 
one or a two, You will find, on close in- 
spection, that the pivot on which it spins 
is movable, and can be so adapted by the 
manipulator as to make the tee-to-tum turn 
up cither high or low numbers, as desired. 
This, of course, is operated upon by the 
individual who is seeking to swindle you. 

by Google 

Original from 

The Two Highwaymen. 

By H, D, Lowry, 


BEGAN attest to thin:, that 
the ball would never come to 
an end. I had looked forward 
to it with absolute dread, for I 
was well aware of the plan 
which my uncle and Madam 
Trelawney had devised between them. I 
had already recognised that the lady's son 
was charming in his boyish frankness, but I 
had seen from the first that it was intended 
he should propose to me before the night 
was ended —this night of all nights in the 
year ! — and I was resolved on my part that 
he should do nothing of the sort 

Truly, he was a gallant boy ; I can fancy 
{for an old woman may surely tell her grand- 
children she once was beautiful) that we 
made a pretty couple as we danced together; 
I know that Madam treated 
me with quite unusual con- 
sideration, and once I 
caught her watching us with 
an altogether delightful air 
of satisfaction. Frank, too, 
did his dutiful best to offer 
me such attentions as are 
proper in a lover ; and 
though I was resolved to 
thwart his mother, and to 
keep him from courting 
rejection, I could not but 
enjoy the little play in 
which I was acting, I 
pictured the surprise of all 
the good folks who were 
now watching me, when the 
news of the morrow- should 
reach them. And, though 
I longed for the end of the 
ball, and the more serious 
adventure which was des- 
tined to follow, I found the 
situation vastly amusing. 

Perhaps it was this fact 
which chiefly helped me 
to keep poor Frank at a 

" You are always laugh- 
ing at a man, JJ he said, 
reproachfully, during an 
interval between two 
dances ; and upon my soul 
I was hard put to it to 
find an answer. I could 

scarcely say that for him I had only pity ; 
and yet this would have been the truth, even 
though I was well aware that his disappoint- 
ment would be only for a week or two. 

At any rate, when the hou; of our depar- 
ture had come, his devotion was still unde- 
clared, and Madam looked upon me a shade 
less kindly, I thought, when I went to take 
farewell of her. But, in truth, I was by this 
time too completely overcome by excitement 
to notice little dt tails in the comportment of 
these people, Yhey were all conspirators 
against my happiness and Dick's ; I knew 
they would be checkmated within the hour, 
and already I could have laughed in their 

My uncle was a great gamester, and never 
known to lose his coolness ; on this night he 
had gained a large sum at cards. But, for 


Original from 



all that, I fancy he had taken a goodly quan- 
tity of liquor during the evening : I noticed 
that his voice was a little thick. No sooner 
were we seated in his coach than he lay back 
in a corner and slept peacefully ; soon he was 

I was thus left alone. Indeed, I could not 
have talked with him had it been otherwise ; 
yet I now wished I were compelled to try, for 
the excitement I was in came near to being 
unendurable. I could see nothing through 
the windows of the coach ; nothing but the 
dim reflection of my own pale face against 
a background of utter darkness. Had I been 
able to take note of the .andmarks as we 
passed them, I might have been calmer; as 
it was, we had hardly been gone from the 
house five minutes when I began and con- 
tinued to feel passionately assured that the 
very next moment would be productive of 
the event to which I looked forward so 

The drive appeared interminable. I began 
to think that Dick must have come early 
and grown tired of waiting, and I knew 
that if he did not keep tryst, my heart would 
simply break. And then, frightening me 
despite my eager anticipation of it, came 
the first sign. 

I saw a sudden blackness move past the 
window. A pistol cracked, and as the 
carriage ceased to move I heard a man's 
voice speaking sternly to the coachman and 
his companion on the box. It struck me 
the sternness was singularly well acted ; for 
the coachman had been in the plot from the 
first He happened to have a fancy for my 
maid, Genefer, and Dick's bribe was a 
superfluity once she had undertaken to make 
sure of him. 

My uncle stirred in his corner, muttering 
incoherently, but he was still more than half 
asleep when the door of the coach was 
opened, and a tall, graceful figure (how well 
I knew it, having met him frequently at 
dusk on the edge of the old plantation !) 
stood dimly outlined against the darkness. 
The new-comer was masked, and put a pistol 
to my uncle's head. 

" You ride late, sir," he said ; and I 
wondered at the skill with which he dis- 
guised his voice. " I presume you carry fire- 
arms, and must ask that you will trust them 
to my keeping." 

I can hardly report my uncle's words. 
Indeed, they were not coherent, so great was 
his indignation. But he gave up his pistols, 
and the highwayman straightway flung them 
far into the darkness. 

"Your purse," he continued, politely. 
Then, when he had received this also : " Sir 
Richard Courtney's luck at the cards has 
passed into a proverb. Tell your friends, 
sir, that you have given their I.O.U.'s to one 
who will never ask for payment ; for I have 
no doubt I shall find them here." 

He put the purse into his pocket. " There 
is a diamond ring, too," he said, " and a 
watch." And these things he also received 
and pocketed. 

All this time my uncle had been cursing 
him for a thief, and swearing he would see 
him hanged within a month upon the highest 
point of the moorland. As for me, I had 
enjoyed the proceedings to begin with, but 
now I began to be afraid. Precious time 
was being wasted. There were others who 
must use this road in returning from the ball, 
and there was the risk of their coming to the 
rescue of my dear uncle, and spoiling the 
plans on which so much depended. More- 
over, I conceived that my uncle would be 
hugely angry when he discovered how prettily 
he had been deceived ; it was possible he 
might be carried by his resentment so far as to 
make it appear that this mock robbery was 
real, and so bring Dick to serious trouble. 
It was with great relief I saw that it was 

The highwayman spoke again. " You 
have a lady in your company," he said. " I 
must trouble her ." 

" Scoundrel ! " said my uncle, angrier than 
he had been at all. " Do you rob helpless 
women, also? Oh, but you shall hang 
high ! " 

"'Beauty,'" quoted the highwayman— "and 
I am sure the lady is beautiful — ' Beauty 
unadorned is best adorned.' I must ask the 
lady to step from her carriage a moment and 
give me the jewels of which she surely has 
no need." 

My uncle would have hindered me, but I 
was past him in a moment, and stepped out 
of the carriage. 

" Your necklet," said the highwayman, 
hoMing forth his hand. 

I took the pearls from my neck, and 
pressed his hand in passing them to him. 
" Be quick ! " I said in a whisper. " Where 
is your horse ? " 

He paused a moment. " I saw the gleam 
of a bracelet," he said. " I must relieve you 
of that also." 

Again I obeyed him, but the fear that 
others would come while he still stopped 
fooling became more urgent. " I'm ready," 
I w^n«;pen»d^jY93FW?^.i^ at J won <ier 




my uncle did not hear. " Why do you it to him I clutched his hand, secure in the 
wait?" protecting darkness, "Take me!" I said. 

Again there was a pause* He appeared a " Take me ! " 
little disconcerted "And I think you are Again he was silent for a moment. When 

wearing a ring," he went on. he spoke it was in a curiously altered voice, 


I took the ring from my finger; as I gave and j^ith-arlkck -^|rfi| 



11 Dost mean it, sweet ? " he cried *' Come, 
then ! » 

I gave a scream of alarm (a portion of the 
play we had arranged together) as he caught 
me round the waist and landed me upon his 
horse. A moment later, I was clinging to 
him for dear life, as we dashed headlong into 
the black night, and went forward across the 

more than cling tightly to the highwayman 

and await the event. 

We had ridden some miles, when he 

suddenly drew rein and dismounted, landing 

me lightly beside him. 

41 Upon my soul ! " he said, " here is a 

pretty adventure ! Heaven knows that I had 

always a passion for the unusual, or I should 

be still a humble 
usher in Bran- 
caster Academy. 
But, tell me, what 
am I to do with 





moorland* I heard him chuckle, as my 
uncle roared his indignation after us, 


We rode on and on through the darkness, 
At first my excitement was so great as to 
render thought impossible ; moreover, the 
riding was of the roughest, and I had all I 
could do to keep my seat. But gradually, as 
I began to grow more accustomed to my 
situation, I was overtaken with a most dreadful 
misgiving, The rider had hitherto seemed 
like enough to Dick, for I had known he 
would do his best to change his voice ; and 
as for his foolish robbery, it was just of a 
piece with his natural love of mischief* But 
now I began to feel certain that some im- 
posttr had taken his part ; that I had eloped 
with another man — and him a common high- 
wayman. Imagine my distress ! I could 
conceive of no method of extricating myself 
from the position ; a sense of blank help- 
lessness came over me, and I could do no 

I suppose I had 
hoped against 
hope ; to find my 
fears were justified 
was a disastrous 
blow to me, nor 
could I make any 

11 1 would not 
wish a braver 
sweetheart/' he 
continued, speak- 
ing with an odd 
and attractive per- 
plexity* *' But what 
have we gentle- 
men of the road 
to do with wives? 
Why, sweetheart, 
you heard the 
promises of your 
guardian. He will 
surely do his utmost to fulfil them, and how 
should I dare go to the gallows if I knew that 
I left you widowed and alone ? I trust a score 
of maids would weep a little if poor Jack Arthur 
went the common way ; but God forbid that 
any should remember him at a week's end* 
It may seem that I am ungallant, yet I protest 
I do not like my share in this adventure, 
Kiss me, sweet, and then fancy I am old and 
very wise, and take my counsel, which is : 
that you permit me to conduct you back to 
some place near your home* And yet — 1 
would not wish a braver sweetheart ! " 

And then, moved by the kindness of his 
words, and his pleasant voice, I lost command 
of myself and burst into foolish weeping. 

^Sir," I said, *'I am altogether at your 
mercy. I have done that which will shame 
me all the rest of my days. But, indeed, I 
thought you were another* my sweetheart, 
whom I should have married to- morrow* Jl 
I fancied bgipprilftrdfTis gaily than before : 

P er ^H!VtRlW OP 1 ^™^^ 6111 ^ that J 



would take his sage advice. " Ho, ho ! " he 
cried, " then my good fortune is but another 
theft to my account ? I do not understand. 
You were to have married your lover to- 
morrow, and yet you entreat a stranger, and 
a highwayman at that, to carry you off! 
This is the maddest of adventures." 

" Sir ! " I said, " my uncle stands to me in 
the place of father and mother." 

The highwayman chuckled. " Poor child ! " 
he said, and softly stroked my hand, which, 
it seems, he had been holding for some 
minutes. " Poor child ! " 

" He would have me marry one whom I 
do not love, and I began to fear that 
presently he would overcome me, and 
compel " 

" The old hunks ! " cried the highwayman. 
" You shall marry whom you choose. Nay, 
I withdraw my foolish wisdom ; come with 
me, and before the night is here again 
you shall be Mistress Arthur. Believe 
me," he added, with a pretty conceit — 
" believe me, there are many who will envy 

"But, sir," I interrupted, "you forget what 
I have told you. Of late I have been closely 
guarded, for my uncle had discovered that I 
have given my love to a yeoman of the place. 
To-night there was a ball at the house of 
Madam Trelawney (a great lady, whose son 
was destined by my uncle and by her to be 
my husband), and it was arranged that he 
should stop the coach on our return, and 
carry me away with him." 

The highwayman laughed loudly. " And 
that is why you did not faint or scream ? " 
he said. " I fell in love with you because of 
that, and that is why I was so flattered at 
your suggestion of an elopement. But — 
what will the real lover do? Will he stop 
the coach a second time, and find the bird 
flown ? I warrant he will play the part 
execrably. I should hardly be surprised to 
hear he had let himself be captured." 

I could not endure his jesting. " Sir," I 
said, " I am in your hands, and it is small 
wonder you find my plight only laughable. 
I have made myself a show for all the country 
to laugh at. Never a pedlar but will be 
selling ballads in a se'nnight about this that I 
have done to-night. Yet I could believe you 
kinder than most. I entreat that you will 
help me." 

He was sober in a moment. " Upon my 
soul ! " he said, " the case is one to puzzle a 
very Solomon. I would do much to help 
you, but I am not altogether free to do so as I 
would. To be frank, my life hangs upon my 

escaping out of these regions with all the 
celerity I can command. And my life . . . 
But listen ! " 

He broke off, and, kneeling, placed his ear 
to the ground. Then he arose, with a 
curious, excited laugh. "The adventure 
grows in interest," he said. "Here comes 
the honest yeoman, and in hot haste." 

I listened eagerly, and heard far off the 
sound of a horse galloping furiously along 
the rough track, which was then the only 
road across the great moorland. I saw a 
sudden movement on the part of my com- 
panion, and perceived that he was finger- 
ing his pistols as he stood silent in the 

"Not that !" I cried, entreatingly. 
"There will be need of an explanation of 
some kind," he said ; " perhaps you will 
undertake it I confess I have not a suffi- 
cient gift of words, and I am a little inclined 
to doubt whether your sweetheart will be in 
the mood for verbal explanations. Doubtless, 
as a gentleman of the road, he will ride 

The sound of hoofs grew nearer. He was 
silent now, and listened most attentively to 
the approaching sound. Presently the rider 
was quite near. 

"Dick!" I called. "Dick! all's well, 
and I am in the company of a friend of yours 
and mine." 

A moment later he was upon us, and sure 
enough he held a pistol in his hand. He 
jumped from his horse in an instant and 
caught me to him ; but it was the highway- 
man who spoke first. 

" Sir," he said, " I see by the pistol you 
carry that you take a very proper view of the 
situation. And yet I believe that everything 
may be explained. If you will consult the 

lady " 

"Dick," I said, "this gentleman is a 
friend. He took me with him, very much 
against his will, because I asked that he would 
take me ; and I did that because I thought 
that he was you. You know our plan. He 

is " 

I paused. The highwayman laughed. " I 
follow, day by day, the trade which it pleased 
you to adopt for a single night. I anticipated 
you by a few minutes. We are both of us 
tall men, and the lady took the difference of 
voice and manner for a clever disguise. I 
was engaged about my ordinary business 
when she appeared to suggest that I should 
elope with her. I will confess my good luck 
amazed me ?*t firs':, but I was quick to 
embrace it; ; nor did I discover how far astray 




my conceit had led me until the very moment 
of your approach. We were endeavouring to 
devise a method of restoring the lady to her 
friends when you appeared to solve our 

" You forget," said Dick, doggedly — " you 
forget the little matter of the money and 
jewels you have stolen/' 

The highwayman started. " * Convey/ the 
wise call it," he replied, with some tartness. 
u But the only course is, that I should 
surrender everything to you ; and then it 
should be clear to you that I am no less than 
a messenger of Providence to you and the 
lady — a god from the machine," 

Dick was silent, his arm about my waist, 
his figure held ready for action. 

"The good uncle has been robbed of 
goods and niece," went on the highwayman, 
easily, " You come upon him in his distress, 
hear the tale, and straightway go in pursuit of 
the thief — the good uncle called me i thief ' — 
and compel him to disgorge. In truth, the 
least he can do is to give you the lady in 

return for his goods. For, though perhaps 
you do not guess it, you have shown some 
bravery to-night" 

The thing was beautifully clear, " Indeed/' 
I cried, u he shall do no less, Dick, we will 
go back ; and I promise you shall marry me 
when you will, and with his consent. Do you 
not see it ?" 

"He ought to do so/' said Dick, grudgingly. 
"I suppose we must thank you, Sir,' 1 

u Oh ! " said the highwayman, lightly, 
" there is no need of thanks. Here are the 
jewels and the purse. But, first " — he opened 
the purse and extracted some scraps of 
paper — •' I promised to liberate certain poor 
debtors, and that promise I must keep/' 

He tore the papers into fragments t and 
leapt upon his horse. 

" Farewell ! r he cried, and vanished into 
the night Nor did I hear of him again 
until he was hanged, two years afterwards, 
for a robbery of the most daring. 

At least there was one who wept at the 
news of his death— and she a happy wife. 

by Google 

Original from 

The Line of Robert Burns. 

By J, Monro, 

OITERING one day in the 
Bums Monument on the 
Calton Hill at Edinburgh, and 
gazing with a proud and loving 
interest on the faded tress of 
the kl Lassie wi' the lint-white 
locks/' the Bible of "Highland Mary/' the 
manuscript songs, and other relics of the 
poet who is dearest to the hearts of all true 
Scotsmen , I chanced to hear that his great- 
grandson, bearing his nntnt% was now living in 
obscurity at the village of Blackball, a few 
miles distant. The news was a surprise to 
me, for, like most admirers of Burns, I was 
under the impression that he had no male 
descendants alive, at least in Scotland, and I 
took an early oppor- 
tunity of verifying the 

Blackball lies "with- 
in a mile o 1 sweet 
Edinboro' toun " on 
the Queens ferry 
Road, over which 
the "Hawes Fly" 
of other days whirled 
the immortal " Anti- 
quary } ' to the Hawes 
Inn, where " David 
Balfour " was kidnap- 
ped in the story of 
Mr- Stevenson, It is ^ 
mainly a double row 
of stone houses, with 
the shops of small 
dealers, built along the 
turnpike. Here, at the 
head of a blind alley 
on the north side of 
the street — a secluded 
corner to which few of 
the many travellers on 
the road ever cast a glance — I found a grey- 
stone cottage behind a gateway, bearing the 
legend : M City of Edinburgh Gunpowder 
Magazine." It was the residence of Mr. 
Burns, the man I had come to see. 

The bell was answered by Mrs, Burns, who 
informed me that her husband was just 
getting up. tl Ye ken he's not very strong," 
said she, with a kindly Scots accent, that 
sounded home-like to my ears* Promising 
to call back in half an hour, I passed the 
time in strolling towards the richly-wooded 
hill of Corstorphine, and meditating on the 
inscrutable turns of life which had brought 
a descendant of the national poet of Scot- 

AVwn a 1 minting by A'ujmytfc. 

land to keep a gunpowder magazine, and me 
to visit him that day. 

On returning to the house, Mrs, Burns 
showed me into a bright and comfortable 
kitchen - parlour, where I found the invalid 
resting on a stuffed settee betwixt the bow 
window and the fire, where a black kitten 
was basking on the hearth, I was greatly 
struck with his appearance as he rose to 
welcome me, A man about fifty years of 
age, or little more, he was still handsome, 
although his black beard had been touched 
with grey and his fine features wasted by 

The Tennysonian cast of his head was 
noble, not to say kingly, and might have 
become a bard of the 
Ancient Druids. The 
pensive melancholy of 
his hazel eyes, deep 
sunken and dark 
under his bushy brows ; 
the waxen pallor of his 
skin, and the masses 
of his sable hair 
streaked w p ithgrey, 
recalled the descrip- 
tions of Burns during 
his last illness, and I 
felt that something of 
the adverse destiny 
which had made the 
poet an exciseman 
had clung to bis 

He told me that he 
was indeed the great- 
m grandson of Robert 
Burns in the male 
line, and I could well 
believe it. The fact, 
however, was known 
to but a few admirers of his great-grand- 
father, amongst th^m Mr* Bruce Wallace, 
formerly American Consul at Edinburgh, 
and Mr* J, D. Ross, author of " Burns- 
iana," who had been out to see him. 
Hitherto he had kept it a secret, because 
he was afraid his privacy might be disturbed 
by visitors, and probably not one of the 
hundreds of tourists who passed through 
Blackball day after day .n the summer 
season, on their way to and from the Forth 
Bridge, was aware of his existence* 

Portraits of his ancestors hung over the 
mantelpiece, flanked bv an illustrated calen- 



journal, a Little Red Riding Hood in a snow 
sled with a bunch of hollies, A view of 
the Kilmarnock Monument to the poet, and 
bronzed statuettes of Tarn o ] Shanter and 
Souter Johnnie, standing on the mantelshelf 
between two American cIocks 3 completed the 
little gallery. 

The founder of the family, Robert Bums I., 
was re p resented by Cooke's engraving of the 
Nasmyth portrait, which is considered the 
best likeness- A photograph of Robert 
Burns IL, his eldest son, by jean Armour, 
shows a marked resemblance to him if we 
allow for difference in age. Burns had great 
hopes of this boy, and shortly before he 
died spoke to Mrs. Riddell, of Glenriddell, 
with seeming pride and 
satisfaction of his grow- 
ing genius and the appro- 
bation of his teachers. 
As a matter of fact, 
Burns was a good father 
to his children, and gave 
them the best school- 
ing that his small means 
would permit At his 
death sufficient money 
was raised to support 
Mrs, Burns and enable 
her to continue their 
education. Robert was 
then about ten years 
old, having been bom 
on September 3rd, 1786. 
On leaving the Dumfries 
Grammar School, he 
spent two sessions at 
Edinburgh Academy, 
and one at Glasgow Uni- 
versity, Appointed to a 
clerkship in the Stamp 
Office, London, he mar- 
ried Anne Sherwood, at 
the age of twenty-two, and retired in 1833 on 
a modest pension of ^120 or ^150 a year, 
Returning to Dumfries, he dwelt there until 
his death, on May 14th, 1857, and was buried 
in the Burns mausoleum beside his wife, 
whom he survived about twenty-two years. 

Probably his career did not fulfil the 
anticipations of his father, whose weakness in 
matters of finance and lack of self-control he 
seems to have inherited, if we can trust the 
statement of Dr. Rogers ; hut he was a useful 
citizen, and his education was not entirely 
thrown away, for he added to his income 
by giving private lessons in classics and 
mathematics both in London and Dumfries, 

His brothers, with a less expensive educa- 


tion, did better in the world, William Nicol 
Burns, on leaving the Dumfries Grammar 
School, sailed as a midshipman to India, and 
entering the Madras Infantry of "John 
Company," attained to the rank of lieutenant- 
colonel. Retiring )n 1843, he lived at 
Cheltenham until his death in 1872, and was 
buried in the family mausoleum. 

His younger brother, James Glencairn 
Burns, named after his father's noble friend 
the Earl of Glencairn, was a scholar of 
Christ's Hospital, London, as well as the 
Dumfries Grammar School, and joined the 
Bengal Native Infantry. He also officiated 
as a judge and collector at Cahar, and 
ultimately attained to the brevet rank of 

lieutenant ■ colonel In 

1S39 he retired, and 
lived in London till 1843, 
then took up house with 
his brother at Chelten- 
ham* He died in 1865, 
and was also buried in 
the mausoleum at Dum- 
fries. Both brothers 
enjoyed considerable 
pensions, ^1,000 or 
;£i,ioo a year. Both 
were married, but only 
Colonel James left 
children behind him, 
namely, two daughters 
by his first and second 
wives. Colonel William, 
like his brother Robert, 
resembled the poet a 
good deal, and he alone 
seems to have written 
verses, some of which 
have been read in manu- 
script by Mr. Burns, of 
B lackhalL A ppa ren 1 1 y 
the sons of the poet 
walked after the eloquent advice tendered 
them by Wordsworth : 

Let tin mean hope your souls enslave j 
Be independent, generous, hrave ; 
Your fa l her such example gave, 

Arul such revere ; 
Dut be admonished by his grave, 

And think and fear. 

Robert Bums III., the eldest son of 
Robert Burns IL, married Mary Campbell, 
and taught a private school in Dumfries for 
over thirty years, until tbe new Sehool Board 
obliged him to give it up, and died in 1S79 
in that town. 

His eldest son, Robert Burns IV., the last 
of the dynasty, and mv host at Blackhall, was 
born in DuiflHffl^cfBaucated in his father's 





school. He enlisted in the Household 
Brigade of the Scots Fusilier Guards, and 
was quartered with his regiment in London 
for seven years, in Dublin for thirteen months, 
at Shorncliffe and elsewhere. Three times 
he volunteered for active service, but without 
success. On quitting the army he fell back 
on tL labouring work/' as the Scotch say, and 
eventually obtained the keepership of the 
City of Edinburgh Gunpowder Magazine at 
Black hall. For the last thirteen years he ha.s 
lived there, serving out the gunpowder 
required by the Edinburgh merchants and the 
miners in the neighbouring quarry of Craig - 
leith, It is a post of some responsibility, and 
if the duties are light, they require strict care 
and attention. A free house, a bit of garden, 
and ^45 a year are not to be despised ; and 
if he had enjoyed a small pension from the 
army, he might have been very comfortable, 
As it is, 17s, jj^d. per week may enable him 
and Mrs, Burns to exist, but is certainly not 
enough to save money upon, or indulge in 
any luxury and recreation. 

He and his good wife, Jane Palmer, the 
daughter of a farmer of Mouswald, near 
Dumfries, make the best of their circum- 
stances, and probably the enlightened and 
worthy magistrates of Edinburgh will allow 
him to retain his post as long as he lives. 
Since he cannot * f lay by " anything, however, 
it is a serious outlook for Mrs. Burns, should 

she survive him, unless the magistrates can 
see their way to continue her in the appoint- 

Another member of the family whose 
portrait Mr- Burns showed me is " Aunt 
Jane ' of Dumfries, or Jean Armour Burns, 
with her daughter, Jane Armour Bums Brown, 
who. as will be seen from our illustration, is 
remarkably like the poet as he appears in 
David Allan's water-colour of " The Cottars' 
Saturday Night," recently given in the 
Magazine of Art. In the refined face of 
Mr Burns himself we may also discern 
traits of his great-grandfather, especially the 
full and open brow, the serious and thought- 
ful eyes, and the swarthy complexion ; but 
his high and aquiline nose is rather a 
feature of his great-grand-uncle, Gilbert Burns. 
He has never written any poetry, and neither 
his father nor his mother were literary, but 
he is a warm admirer of his gifted ancestor. 
One of his favourite poems is the u Lament 
for James, Earl of Glencairn." 

" I like yon last lines best," said he to me, 
reading them aloud to refresh his memory: — - 

The bridegroom may forget ihe bride 

Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; 
The monarch may forget the crown 

That on his head an hour hath been ; 
The mother may forget the child 

That smiles sue sweetly on her knee ; 
But I'll remember lhee t Glcncairn, 

And a* that thou hast done for me ! 

" Man — that's a grand verse \ n he ex- 
claimed, with a sympathetic thrill in his 

vTR5ITro™™ftfT B - 



deep, musical voice* H That's a very good 
one t too, the * Epistle to Davie, 1 " he went 
on : — 

The winds frae aflF Benl^m^nd blaw, 
And liar the doors wi' driving snaw. 

Lines that have gone to the hearts of Scotsmen 
with a magical power in every clime under 
the sun, and called up visions of their home 
and kindred in the sad, sweet days * £ of auld 
lang syne." 

1 lound Mr. and Mrs* Burns so kind and 
hospitable, and their conversation so interest- 
ing, that 1 was fain to linger in their 
company. When I came away, Mr. Burns, 
accompanied by his old brown retriever, took 
me into the grounds of the magazine, beside 
the house, and showed me the "Maiden 
Craig/' a deserted quarry-hole, now filled 
with stagnant water and surrounded by a 
waste of grass overgrown with bushes. When 
the poet was in the springtide of his glory, 
and the lion of Edinburgh, that uncanny pit 
was in full blast, and the mansions in which 
he figured as an honoured guest were built of 
its stone. 

To-day, it is affording an asylum to the 
last of his name. A quiet retreat, pleasant 
enough in summer when the grass is green 
and the birds are singing in the trees, but 
mournful and dreary in 
winter, when the dark 
pool is swollen with the 
rains, and 

Fearfu' souths the boortree 
bank . 

On the way back Mr 
Bums had to stop twice 
and bend over his staff 
from sheer weakness, 
u My head just goes 
round and round like 
that," said he, describ- 
ing a whirl in the air 
with his hand — a frail, 
thin hand, as I o>uld 
feel, too well, in bidding 
him good-bye. 

He suffers from 
chronic rheumatism, 
and, perhaps, his outlook 
and isolation prey upon 
a delicate nature. When 
once the spirits are low, 
it is not so easy to raise 
them again. A change 
of air and scene, if only 
for a day now and then, 
would, I am sure, work 
wonders in him, but he 



is tied to his post through illness and want 
of means. " Had Burns been ennobled," 
thought I, on the road to Edinburgh, 4t how 
different might have been this man's lot ! " 
And yet, what nobleman has done so much 
for Scotland as the beloved bard who has 
moulded the spirit of her sons ? The Scotch 
have been blamed for making their poet a 
gauger and leaving him to struggle on fifty 
pounds a year ; but since his death they 
have amply redeemed their fault, if it were 
a fault. Provision was made even for his 
illegitimate children. The cottage in which 
he was born has been preserved to the 
nation. A number of splendid monuments 
have been erected to his memory. Innumer- 
able books and celebrations in all parts of 
the world attest his growing fame* 

A lively interest is taken in everything that 
concerns him, and persons in whom his blood 
still flows are marked like the descendants of 
the Prophet, When the little daughter of 
Colonel James Glencairn Burns was buried 
at sea on the way home from India, the 
officers and men of the ship were drawn up 
on the deck in mourning array, and while the 
coffin was lowered into the deep, every eye 
was moist, and some of the sailors, natives of 
Scotland, wept outright. The tomb of 
" Highland Mary " at 
Greenock is a place of 
pilgrimage, and steps are 
now being taken to raise 
a stone over the grave 
of Chloris, the " Lassie 
wi ? the lint-white locks," 
which was recently dis- 
co ve red u n d e r a droopi ng 
birch in the old burying- 
ground at Ne wing ton. 

Could the Poet him- 
self re-visit " Edina's 
Darling Seat " he would 
be received with honours 
and acclamation little 
short of idolatry. Doubt- 
less the affection and 
enthusiasm of his 
countrymen would melt 
his heart, and yet amidst 
all their homage and 
admiration I fancy he 
would turn an anxious 
eye on that forsaken 
quarry at Black hall, and 
say to them : " Guid 
freends, eanna we bring 
some hope and gladness 
(still uvikc> ',. ihtr$ f JI 




HA1> been trudging for twelve 
hours through the streaming 
rain j which had penetrated even 
the thick tweed suit I wore. 
It had rained steadily for 
twenty- four hours, and, judging 
from the thick, colourless sky, and the white 
cloud-wreaths that hung about the lower 
slopes of the mountains, there seemed every 
probability that a spell of bad weather had 
set in. 

Driven as with a goad by the utter dis- 
comfort of the dirty inn I had left behind 
me in the morning, I pressed on in the rain- 
lashed gloaming towards the old Roman 
watering-place on the southern side of the 
Stelvio Pass, Bad Bormio : there, T knew, the 
joys of good food, clean linen, and luxurious 
bath waited for me. Of course I ought not 
to have cast one thought on these comforts of 
civilization, for the Stelvio Pass is one of the 
grandest in Europe, and it had been my 
privilege to behold the great Madatseh 
glacier and the cloud-veiled head of the 
Ortler Spitz, as I stood at the top of the 
pass and looked over the glories of the 
Tyrolean Alps, 

But I was very wet, very tired, very 
hungry; and I longed for my Capua down 

&^ PBCJnirib 

in the pleasant valley. My port- 
manteau had gone on by post— 
the carry-all, omniscient post of 
i foreign parts. At Bormio I would 

Y rest me for three whole days ; good 

dinners would I eat and sparkling 
Asti would I drink; and I would 
make merry with any pleasant folk 
chance might throw T in my way. 
And so the pains and penalties of 
the poor pedestrian would be forgotten, or 
remembered only as a foil to the comforts of 
the present 

I hurriedly pulled myself up at this stage 
of my reflections, for anticipation had made 
me forget for a brief moment what was then 
my condition. The relentless rain had 
worked its way to my skin ; only my feet 
were dry, thanks to the waterproof boots and 
stout leggings I wore. I was as yet within 
some miles of my goal when I overtook two 
pedestrians whose case was much w r orse than 
my own, for these two belated wanderers 
were women, and the poor creatures' skirts 
were wet and draggled* and clung miserably 
about their limbs. Both were slender and 
young, and the heavy rain beat heavily on 
their heads and shoulders. Bedraggled 
though they were, I saw at a glance they were 
ladies, and a few words uttered by one told 
me that they were country-women of my own. 
My interest and sympathy were at once 

" Another hour, Betty, at most, and we 
can knock off. What a tramp we've had, 
and how it can rain in this wonderful 
country ! " 

The girl who spoke (she could only have 
been in her early twenties) had a fair, ruddy 




complexion, her cheeks looked like roses that 
had had a thorough drenching, and a great 
lump of light brown hair, which showed 
beneath her soaked grey felt hat, was heavy 
with diamond drops of water. Both girls 
•wore neat ulsters, but the rain had evidently 
soaked them through, and they clung tightly 
to the slim outlines of their forms. 

I glanced quickly at the girl addressed as 
" Betty." She was wet, but even prettier 
than her companion. The steady tramp of 
my steps probably caused Betty some alarm, 
for she looked nervously over her shoulder. 
It was then that I saw what a very pretty 
girl she was, despite her somewhat dishevelled 

On the impulse of the moment I raised 
my hat and muttered some sort of salutation. 

" Oh, you're English ! " 

The accent of pleasure was unmistakable, 
and gratifying. 

The exclamation came from Betty, whose 
dark eyes were turned full on me. Evidently 
the result of the inspection was favourable, 
for Betty smiled, and showed a row of 
gleaming little teeth, 
whose whiteness was ac- 
centuated by the rich red 
of the lips that enframed 
them. The young lady's 
complexion was slightly 
browned by exposure to 
the sun ; but the lashing 
of the rain had brought 
a flush of pink to the 
smooth cheek, whose per- 
fect contour was apparent 
as she turned towards 

" Yes, I am English," 
I said, in a comfortable, 
elder-brotherly tone, cal- 
culated to win the con- 
fidence of these two 
independent damsels- 
errant; "and I am on 
my way to Bad Bormio." 

" So are we ; and we 
are so horribly wet, and 
the road seems as if it 
would never endi" 

"It is a long tramp 
from Trafoi," I remarked. 

"Oh, we only came 
from Franzenhohe this 
morning j we had some 
lunch at Santa Maria, "S 

and we hope to reach frfc^JSE^ 
Bormio by dinner-time," 


said the other girl, whose name I afterwards 
knew to be Kate ; " for, to tell you the truth, 
we are both awfully hungry." 

"What hotel are you bound for?" I 

" The Nuovi Bagni." 

"Ah, I am going there too. Will you 
allow me to walk with you and to carry that 
bag ? " I added, pointing to a fair-sized ruck- 
sack strapped to the supple back of Miss 

After a little demur the nick-sack was 
unstrapped and attached to the haversack 
I carried. I saw with satisfaction that the 
slender figure, relieved of its burden, drew 
itself more erect and moved forward with 
greater ease. 

The two girls, tramping unprotected along 
that lonely road which winds down from the 
summit of the pass to Italy, seemed quite 
free from any fear of danger. The dis- 
comfort of rain-soaked clothing, boots heavy 
with mud, and the fatigue consequent on the 
long tramp, seemed to be the only cause of 
complaint they had 

Original from 




" You see, when one is on a walking tour 
one can't stop for weather," remarked Betty, 
with a comprehensive glance round at the 
mist-shrouded mountains, the rain-lashed 
rocks showing their rich brown in vivid contrast 
to the grey sky and patches of vivid green 
moss ; " one must take the good and the 
bad just as they come, like the rough and the 
smooth places on the road. My friend and 
I are good walkers, and we enjoy a tramp 
like this, in spite of the weather." 

I had got the idea that the girls were 
sisters, although they 
were quite unlike in 
personal appearance. 
Bit by bit I got to 
know more about 
my damsels - errant. 
They had walked 
most of the way from 
Innsbruck, through 
the Brenner Pass, to 
Botzen; there they 
had taken the train 
to Meran, and from 
thence had pursued 
their tramp, stopping 
several days on the 
road at Spondelak, 
Trafoi, and Franzen- 

" We shall stay at 
Bormio a few days 
and rest, and then 
we shall meet our 
bags again. You 
can't think how glad 
we are to see those 
bags : we quite love 
the very straps and 
buckles. Do you 
know Bormio at all?" 

I avowed my ignorance. 

" Nor do we. There was an American 
lady we met at Innsbruck who recom- 
mended the Nuovi Bagni to us. I think she 
thought us quite mad, but she was extremely 

" Kitty," she added, suddenly addressing 
her companion, "do look down there at that 
leaping water : that must be the Adda." 

" Oh ! our first Italian river, Betty ! How 
jolly ! " cried the enthusiastic Kate, her grey 
eyes beaming out from under her dripping 

Then she looked" down the valley and 
tried, I think, to realize that this rain-beaten 
scene really was Italy. 

"Cheer up, Kitty; it will be fine to- 

morrow, and won't we revel in the sunshine 
when it comes ! " 

It was Betty who spoke. The manner of 
the girls towards each other amused me ; 
they seemed to take the role of guide and 
consoler in turns, just as, I have no doubt, 
they had taken it in turns to carry the ruck- 
sack which I had now in my care. 

Independent though they were, the girls 
seemed glad of my companionship, especially 
when we passed through one of the dark, 
cavernous galleries roofed with stones, built 


v> jM>%, 4/ . 


to protect the road from avalanches. They 
chatted in a friendly, unembarrassed manner, 
and the sound of the fresh young voices and 
the sight of the two pretty faces did much to 
redeem the dreariness of the long, mono- 
tonous road. 

The next morning was a sumptuous one. 
As I looked from my window my eyes were 
greeted by a sky of startling blueness ; the 
sun shone on the delicate green of the moss- 
like acacia trees sparkling with moisture ; 
there were roses and oleanders in the garden, 
and snow on the distant tops of the 
mountains. The contrast was piquant. I 
was soon dressed and out of doors. The 

^^^^feiTY^feffl^r 5 "^ 11 trees 



laden with masses of berries, was fragrant 
after the heavy rain. But I soon wearied of 
it and strolled down into the smiting valley 
below the dilapidated village perched on the 
bank of the Adda. Here the tumble-down 
houses were pitted with bullet marks, the 
mementos of the old hereditary struggle with 
Austria. I stood on the bridge which spanned 
the foaming stream, swollen with yesterday's 
rain, and watched the water eddying over its 
rough and rocky bed. As I leant against the 
parapet I caught the sound of a woman's 
voice trilling out the refrain of an Italian 

The lark-like joyousness of the song seemed 
in harmony with the glorious morning. In a 
dreamy mood I listened. The singing voice 
floated nearer I caught sight of a white 
straw sailor-hat and a pink cotton blouse. 

Italian peasant girls do not attire them- 
selves thus, I am a trifle short-sighted, but, 
in a very few moments, I was aware that the 
early-rising songstress was Miss Kate M orison. 
A glance at the hotel register had informed 
me of the names of my fellow- 

She looked very pretty and 
fresh ; the mass of light brown 
hair was twisted up neatly at 
the back of her head. Clearly 
the luggage of the two girls 
had turned up, for there were 
no signs of travel-stain about 
the trim blue serge skirt and 
the crisply starched pink 

I wished her good-morning, 
and inquired for her absent 

"Oh, Betty is all right, 
thanks, only rather sleepy, I 
thought it a pity to waste one 
single hour of this heavenly 
morning, and I wanted to 
make a little sketch from the ^ 

"An artist as well as a 
singer?" I inquired, smiling. 

"Oh, you heard me chir- 
ruping, I suppose. One must 
sing when one feels so utterly 
happy. Isn't the air exhilarat- 
ing ? But I must make my 
sketch. I can sit on the para- 
pet—so and get just the 
view I want," 

She perched herself upon 
the stone ledge, and made an 
impromptu easel of her knee. 

The sun shone on the big knot of curly 
brown hair and made the golden threads in 
it shine gloriously. The white sailor-hat tilted 
over the forehead made a shade for the darkly- 
fringed grey eyes and delicate brows. 

I admired Miss Kate immensely, yet I 
caught myself regretting that Miss Betty was 
not such an early riser as her friend. 

Nevertheless, I seated myself on the oppo- 
site parapet, and surveyed the pretty artist 
with very real satisfaction. There was a 
freshness and spontaneity about her that was 
very fascinating. She talked about the 
grand scenery of the Stelvio ; she narrated 
with great glee some of the adventures of 
their trip— how, at Trafoi, provisions ran 
short because a band of German students 
had descended on the peaceful village like a 
flight of locusts, leaving a temporary famine 
behind them ; how they had excited the 
suspicion of the authorities of the fortress 
above Gomagoi, because she had made a 
little sketch of the Suldenthal, and so on. 
Her busy pencil did its work with great 

Original from 

^ iE tir/EetrofMCT 



rapidity, and, when I asked permission to 
look at the sketch, I was really surprised at 
the masterliness of her touch, and her know- 
ledge of perspective. 

" I am an artist in a humble way — an 
artist in black and white. I do work for 
newspapers," she said, naively, in answer to 
my praise. 

" And your friend. Is she equally clever ? " 
I inquired, with interest. 

"She is a great deal cleverer. We were 
students together, and her work always sur- 
passed mine, only " She stopped, and 

I knew she had checked herself lest she 
should tell me more about her friend than 
that more reserved young lady would 

She closed her sketch-book, and we walked 
back together to the hotel. In the garden 
we met Miss Betty. She, too, looked dainty 
and fresh after her night's rest. The same 
source of information that had made me 
acquainted with Miss Kitty's name had told 
me hers — Blount. 

At breakfast I happened to mention her 
by name, and I fancied a look of surprise 
crossed her face at the glibness with which I 
uttered it. But her manner showed no dis- 
pleasure, and I was encouraged to offer my 
escort for an expedition to the town of 
Bormio. The quaint, old-world place, with 
its rough pavements and narrow streets, so 
Italian in its aspect, with the yellow-washed 
houses and curious loggias, and musty, 
silent church, delighted Miss Kitty, and gave 
much occupation to her pencil. But Miss 
Blount, whose artistic superiority her friend 
had proclaimed, did not make any sketches, 
although no doubt she stored up impressions 
for future use. 

I could not disguise from myself that this 
rather reserved young lady had awakened a 
really strong interest in my mind. The fasci- 
nation of her beauty charmed me ; but her 
whole personality attracted me yet more 
powerfully. There was a mysterious winning- 
ness in her voice, a grace in her movements, 
a magnetism in the glance of her full hazel 
eyes, that haunted me during her absence, 
and set all my nerves thrilling whenever 
she spoke to or even looked at me. That 
night I dreamt of her, and woke uttering her 

I was angry with myself at the absurdity of 
the situation. To be in love with a girl 
whose face I had seen for the first time only 
thirty-six hours before ! To be caught in the 
net of passion like any raw boy of twenty, 
to know that the suddenness of the calamity 


Vol. ix.— 31. 

that had befallen me was in itself almost 

I was no romantic stripling : I was a sober 
man of thirty, a plodding student of the law, 
too poor to marry, and vowed to celibacy and 
dull routine for a good ten years to come. 
But under all the ridicule I heaped upon 
myself was a secret rapture and proud exulta- 
tion. I was in love — in love ; I had tasted 
the honey, and sniffed at the roses of life. 
The sweet air of Italy made the blood run 
riotously in my veins ; the rich colour and 
the sense of strong life that was in the 
atmosphere intensified my capacity for emo- 
tion, and so lulled to sleep that power of 
self-control and cool reasoning on which I 
prided myself. 

Nothing but a violent wrench would have 
enabled me to leave Bormio. I lingered on, 
hugging my chains; and the two girls, for 
what reason I know not, lingered too. 

The place had a curious charm : it had the 
strength and grandeur of the mountains and 
the glory and glamour of the south. A week 
passed, during which the two girls and I were 
almost always together. Their utter uncon- 
ventionally surprised me, but it delighted me 
too. Their plans were not fixed, but some- 
thing had been said once or twice about 
extending their walking tour to the Engadine, 
by way of the Bernina Pass. I had just made 
up my mind that where they went I would go, 
for the thought of Betty tramping unprotected 
and exposed to the chance of insult filled me 
with dismay. Already I assumed to myself 
the man's right of protection. 

The two girls listened respectfully, almost 
obediently, to my advice, and made no 
objection whatever when I declared that I 
too intended to visit the Engadine, and would 
go when they went. 

In my own mind I had fully planned how 
my romance was to end. I would marry 
Betty ; we should be poor, but I knew her 
tastes were simple, and I would work trebly 
hard and win success for myself, and wealth 
for her, before we were five years older. 
Of such visions is love guilty ! 

As the girls were resolute to keep to their 
plan of walking from Bormio to Pontresina, 
we set out in true Bohemian fashion, like 
respectable gipsies. The roads were good, 
the weather perfect, and we tramped joyously 
to Bolladore and Tirano, staying a day here 
and a day there, just as the fancy took us. It 
was at Tirano that the climax of my brief 
madness came and the denouement of this 
adventure befell. 

We were housed in the Hotel San Michele, 




one of the quaintest hostelries surely wherein 
a man might take his ease. For the building 
had formerly sheltered a peaceful sisterhood. 
The bedrooms were vaulted, the floors were 
of stone, and ail the doors opened on to a 
broad, cloister-like gallery. At the end of 
this winding gallery was an immense loggia, 
which looked on the Piazza and the Cathedral 
— a pilgrimage church — whither on great 
festivals the faithful were gathered together 
from all the surrounding villages. 

The girls were enraptured by the quaint 
blending of monasticism and the modern 
Italian love of semi-Pagan decoration, for the 
loggia was roughly frescoed with landscapes, 
framed in vines bearing heavy purple clusters 
of grapes. A rough wooden table and 
benches were placed in the loggia, and it was 
there we elected to dine, although the con- 
ventional refectory was close at hand to serve 
as dining-room. The sun was setting as we 
lingered over our plenteous dessert. We had 
been three days at Madonna di Tirano, 
and the fascination of the place was still 
upon us. 

Perhaps it was the sobering influence of 
the grey old building, or the conventual air 
of the place, or the asceticism which breathed 
from those cell-like bedrooms ; but certainly 
on that third evening of our sojourn there the 
girls' manner had changed. Betty's beautiful 
face was sad and clouded, and Kitty's gaiety 
had vanished. After dinner she pleaded a 
headache, and went to her room, and Betty 
looked troubled as she left us, but did not 
offer to follow. I suggested a stroll in the 
convent garden, from whence came the click 
of the bowls, for that old-world game was 
always in full swing after the day's work was 
over — the garden being large, served as an 
open-air club to the townspeople. Betty 
agreed, and we were soon in the cool, 
high-walled pleasance —a quiet spot, where 
all we heard of the players was the click 
of the ball, and the distant sound of laughter 
and talk. 

The sun had set, and a cool breeze was 
whispering among the broad leaves of the 
fig-trees ; in the grass the drone of the grass- 
hopper made a sleepy murmur. Betty was 
curiously silent, a trifle embarrassed in 
manner, and somehow this unwonted shy- 
ness and taciturnity gave me confidence in 
myself. I talked to her about many things, 
as if I were entitled to her sympathy, told 
her of my struggles, of my ambitions, of my 
hopes — talked as a man rarely talks, save to 
the woman he loves and hopes to win for 
his wife. Somehow or other — made bold, I 

Digitized by G( 

think, by a tender softening of her face when 
I spoke about the hardness of the struggle 
for fame when the struggle is made single- 
handed — I blurted out my secret. I loved 
her, and life would be a desert without her 

Then in the grey twilight I saw a white, 
astonished face and two large, frightened eyes 
look at me almost in horror. 

" Mr. Aslehurst ! " she panted, " you are 

surely mad. It is not I you love — it is " 

she stopped and bit her lips. 

Good heavens ! — it was the old compli- 
cation. I read her unspoken thought in a 
flash. She believed it was Kitty I loved, 
that it was for Kitty's sake that I had dangled 
at their heels all this time. 

I was about to protest that it was she — 
Betty, and she only that I loved, when she 
resumed, in a calm, self-possessed tone : — 

" You must forget that you have ever spoken 
so to me, Mr. Aslehurst ; that you have ever 
thought of me — in that way — for I am married 
already — my husband is coming to join us at 

I stared at her incredulously for a moment. 

" But, Miss Blount ? " 

"I was Miss Blount once. I am Mrs. 
Field now — perhaps you know my husband, 
he is a barrister too ; he could not get away 
sooner because he had some important case 
to work up," she went on, rapidly. " It is all 
Kitty Morison's fault — this — this dreadful 
mistake. Kitty was my greatest chum before 
I married last year ; she was very angry with 
me for marrying, and she persuaded me, just 
for the sake of old times, when we used to 
come abroad together for walking tours, to be 
Miss Blount again. It was she who wrote 
the name in the hotel book at Bormio ; and 
when you called me Miss Blount, Kitty was 
delighted, and insisted on keeping up the 

" That was a little rough on me," I said, 
in a crestfallen way. The comical side 
of the situation was apparent to me, and 
for the moment I forgot the pangs of des- 
pised love. 

44 We did not mean any harm," she 
murmured, humbly. "We used to have such 
splendid times together when we toured about, 
Kitty and I. When I heard you call me 
Miss Blount, I almost forgot that I had a 
husband in London." 

" Poor Field ! He would not be flattered." 

" You know my husband ? " 

" Slightly. We meet pretty often in hall," 
I answered, drily. 

" Oh, Mr. Aslehurst, what must you think 




of me? Rut 1 do love Edward, and I— I 
shall be so happy to see him at Pontresina. 
We are a model couple, and ever so con- 
tented. I— 1 thought that you admired 
Kitty Morison, she is such a dear, good girl ; 

name I have called her always in my 
thoughts — Betty had allowed the freak to he 
indulged, and I was a broken-hearted man — 
for fully thirty-six hours. 

But I could not in mere civility leave the 


she has always been very independent and 
high-spirited — always said that she would 

never marry — but- ." Again she stopped, 

and I read in Mrs. Field's beautiful face 
the gist of a little romance that had, no 
doubt, been simmering in her brain ever 
since our meeting in the rain-swept pass of 

Alas, how easily things go wrong ! I had 
fallen in love with the wife instead of with 
the maid, thanks to Miss Kitty M orison's 
little freak. Betty —I must call her by the 

two forlorn women to trudge together to 
Pontresina, especially now that I knew one of 
them was the wife of a brother barrister. 
By the time we reached our Alpine Mecca 
we were the best of friends again, field 
turned up a day or two later, and I stayed on, 
for we alt found four a pleasanter number 
than three in our mountain expeditions— and 
really, Kitty Morison — she has another name 
now — was and is a very pretty girl, and she is 
certainly much less independent than when I 
first made her acquaintance. 

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The Treasure of the Ram-Bagh. 

By Herbert Russell. 

HE struggle was over ; the last 
spark of rebellion crushed out, 
and the ancient city of Delhi, 
the glory of the Mogul race, 
was again in the hands of the 
English. What a time it had 
been, that summer of '57 ! Never was 
warfare waged with such bitter fierceness as 
between the I*eHnghees and the revolted 
Poorbeahs. On the one side was desperation, 
and on the other fanaticism : the atmo- 
sphere of the Punjab was dark with powder- 
smoke, and it seemed to us in those sultry 
regions as though even Nature herself paused 
and stood aside, so to speak, to watch the 
terrific combat between the Black and the 
White. But now it was all over ; the last 
cannon had boomed forth its stern voice of 
terrible reprisal, scattering from its mouth the 
limbs of some murderous sepoy ; the feverish 
rapacity of the looter had been appeased, 
and the British soldier, worn out, footsore, 
harassed to a mere shadow, and reduced to 
rags, sat down to rest and to thank God for 
a victory, however hard earned, that still left 
his glorious flag waving over the minarets of 
the great Oriental capitals. 

I had been an officer in one of the native 
infantry regiments, quartered in the canton- 
ments of Mooltan, a regiment bearing a 
glorious record for deeds of valour performed 
in earlier wars. But the spirit of disaffection 
was only too strongly manifest in the ranks 
at the beginning of the Mutiny ; and one 
morning on parade, in the presence of a 
battalion of Europeans and a battery of 
artillery, ready with lighted portfires to sweep 
the barrack square with a hailstorm of grape, 
the commanding officer ordered the sepoys 
to "pile arms," and, almost before the men 
realized it, they were rendered powerless by 
having their weapons taken from them. Yet 
I will vow that none in all that regiment 
felt the disgrace *of this disarming more 
than their own officers ; and it is an open 
secret that in the cart which collected 
the muskets to carry them to the magazine 
were found the swords and belts of several 
captains and lieutenants. But when a week 
later the sepoys suddenly uprose en masse, 
broke out of their lines, forced the bells of 
arms, shot down the quarter-guard, and 
hurried away towards Delhi, we were all 
obliged to admit that the General's measure 
had been only too wise a one. 

Vol. ix. -32. 

The war over, my former regiment no 
longer existing, and having realized quite a 
modest little fortune as my share of the 
fruits of the great Delhi prize auctions, in 
which were sold all the plundered wealth of 
the Mogul palace, I determined to give up 
the service and return to England. I there- 
fore sold my commission, but the season of 
the rains approaching, I resolved to remain 
in Delhi till they should be over. My syce, 
or native servant, who had faithfully served 
me throughout the campaign, I retained to 
act as a valet His name was Meer Alee, 
and he was a splendid example of the hill 
tribemen, standing about 6ft 3m., with 
large, flashing eyes, a high, aquiline nose, and 
a heavy, curling moustache. Withal, he was 
as intelligent as he was handsome. 

I was seated one day in the veranda of my 
bungalow, puffing at a "Trichy," and thought- 
fully surveying a slowly-healing sabre cut 
upon my left wrist dealt me by a strapping 
sowar, when Meer Alee entered the room, 
and, pausing in the doorway, made me a 
profound salaam. 

"Well," said I; "what is it?" 

" May I speak with the Sahib ? " 

"Say on." 

He stepped close to my chair, and extend- 
ing a small object, said, "Will the Sahib 
look at this ? " I took the thing in my hand. 
It was a little image of dusky yellow metal, 
and very heavy. I recognised it as a statue 
of Gautama, the incarnation of Buddha, and 
from its weight at once perceived that it was ^ 
made of gold. 

"Where did you get this, Meer Alee?" I 

" Is it of any value, Sahib? " 

" I cannot tell you what it may be worth, 
but it is undoubtedly pure gold." 

He rolled up his fine eyes till nothing but 
the whites of them gleamed forth between 
the dusky lids. Then he said, " I found it 
in the Ram-Bagh." 

These two words, literal^ translated, mean 
sacred garden. The Ram-Bagh which my 
servant spoke of was a little, wild tract of 
land surrounding a ruined mosque not far *•• 
distant from the outside of the city walls. 
It was a place where no living creature ever 
went, save maybe some wretched fakir seek- 
ing shelter in the crumbling temple. Doubt- , 
less the long ffrass harboured many snakes, 

and fflrftfeiW6MM' a ' d I "" posely 



venture into what was pretty sure to prove a 
hotbed of deadly reptiles. 

" What were you doing in the Ram-Bagh ? " 
I asked. 

" I will tell the Sahib everything," answered 
the syce y squatting in Eastern fashion at my 
feet, with the little image in his lap. " Three 
days ago came hither an astrologer, begging 
for alms. The wise man makes friends with 
these people, so I brought him in and gave 
him of food and drink, together with a few 
pice. Then said he unto me, ' Bhai-bund^ 
you are the first who this day has given me 
charity. May Silva bless your caste. For I 
am grown old and poor, and people no longer 
have faith in my reading of the planets, and, 
whereas I cannot live much longer, I will tell 
thee a secret in return for thy goodness which 
is written in no book, and known only to Him 
that can divine the unseen.' Well, Sahib, I 
listened with attention, for these astrologers 
often speak words that are worth hearing. 
' Know ye the Ram-Bagh?' said he to me. 
i Despise not what I tell you, but take a 
spade, and dig deep, and you shall find 
there treasure untold. For I am grown old, 
and it is no use to me.' So when he 
was departed I thought upon what he had 
said, and knowing that he could read secrets 
which it is given but to very few to know, I 
resolved to follow his words. So I went 
forth into the Ram-Bagh with a spade, and 
dug down into the earth, but discovered 
nothing. I was not disheartened by my 
failure, and on the following day tried again, 
still without success. Said I, * Perhaps I have 
not yet gone deep enough.' So this morning 
I once more went into the Ram-Bagh, and 
dug again in the same place, and found 
this," said he, holding up the little golden 

" Meer Alee," said I, " why have you told 
me of this thing ? You might have kept it 
to yourself, and have grown rich." 

" How," answered the faithful fellow, 
" should I hide it from the Sahib whose salt 
I eat ? No, no. Even as the astrologer 
gave the secret unto me, because he was 
grown old and did not want longer to keep 
it, so do I now give it to you." 

" Will you leave this with me?" I asked, 
taking the image from him. 

" It is yours," answered he. 

" No. At least, if I keep it, I will pay you 
for it. Although I have little doubt of its 
being gold, still, to make quite sure, I will 
take an early opportunity to have it tested. 
Meanwhile, not a word on the matter to any- 
body, Meer Alee. Your astrologer has given 

you a secret that should make us both rich 
men, but we must keep it to ourselves." 

" Trust me, Sahib," said he, rising and 
salaaming ; and then, with the gliding stealth 
of an Oriental, he left the room. 

I lay back in my chair, reflecting deeply 
upon the surprising story my syce had just 
told me. Perhaps the one feature in the 
whole business which astonished me most 
was the amazing sense of fidelity the trusty 
fellow had displayed in coming straight to me 
with news of his discovery, when he might so 
easily have kept it to himself. That beneath 
the wild, overgrown surface of the Ram-Bagh 
should lie buried treasure, I considered in 
the highest degree probable. 

It is well known to most people acquainted 
with India that the soil in the neighbourhood 
of the great cities teems with hidden valu- 
ables. Down to within quite recent times, 
when a native acquired wealth, instead of 
putting his money into a bank or investing 
it, he dug a hole in the earth and secreted 
it. Seeing that this system has been carried 
on from the very earliest ages of the 
ancient empire, it must be readily apparent 
that large tracts of ground are cemeteries 
of untold riches. Delhi in particular, that 
glittering city of gorgeous domes and white 
spires, for generations the seat of the Mogul 
dynasty, has traditions of buried treasure 
beyond all computation. The Ram-Bagh 
stood among the ruins of Ferozabad, the 
ancient city of Delhi, and was just the spot 
to prove a vast earthy coffer. The land was 
all Crown property, but the Commissioner or 
Government Agent chanced to be a personal 
friend of mine, and I had small doubt of 
being able to obtain permission to dig for 
treasure by applying to him. 

I went that same afternoon to a well- 
known money-changer and goldsmith in the 
Chandree Chouk, and, placing the image in" 
his hands, requested him to test it He 
took it, stroked it over, weighed it, and said, 
" No need to test it. The thing is pure 

" You are positive of that ? " said I. 

" I will give you thirty rupees an ounce for 
it, if you please." 

This was convincing enough. I told him 
that I did not wish to part with the little 
statue, but merely wanted to satisfy myself as 
to its true value. He repeated, "Well, the 
thing is pure gold," and I left his bazaar. I 
went next to see my friend the Commissioner, 
and found him seated in his office sucking 
iced brandy-pawnee through a straw. 

" Ha ! " cried he, on catching sight of me. 





How are you, old fellow? Come in and 
sit down." 

u I have come to ask a favour," said I, 
dropping into an inviting canvas chair, which 
at once folded up under tne and landed me 
on the floor. 

"To ask a favour, eh?-' he exclaimed* 
laughing at my mishap. t£ Most of my friends 
visit me for that purpose* I begin rather to 
suspect that my apparent popularity in the 
station is due to my capacity of obliging. 
Well, when you have extricated yourself from 
that chair, perhaps you will tell me what I 
can do for you." 

1( Oh, it is a very simple affair," said I, 
getting upon my feet again. " I merely want 
your permission to go digging " — he stared at 
me — "on the Ram-Bagh," I added. 

" What the deuce can you want to go dig- 
ging in that weedy, snake-haunted place for?" 
said he, screwing a gold-rimmed glass into his 
eye, to view me more attentively- " Going 
to seek for treasure, eh ? " 

" Why," I answered, a little taken aback, 
and wondering whether, after all, the astrolo- 

ger's secret might not l:e 
known to him, "to tell you 
the truth, you have exactly 
hit it. 7 ' 

He burst into a laugh. 
" I wouldn't give you the 
value of a paper dollar for 
all you're likely to find." 

I drew a deep breath of 

" Will you consent to my 
making the experiment ? " 
said I, 

" My dear fellow, dig over 
the whole place, if you like. 
You will be doing a great 
service by clearing it of weeds- 
Take care a cobra doesn't 
abruptly terminate your little 
venture, that's all. But what 
has put the notion of seek- 
ing for treasure in the Ram- 
Bagh into your head ? " 

"Well," I answered, feign- 
ing reluctance to admit a 
little superstitious weakness, 
" an astrologer called at my 
bungalow a few days ago 
begging for alms, and out of 
gratitude for the charity be- 
stowed upon him, he said 
that if I should dig in the 
Ra m - Bagh, H ea ve n would 
reward my goodness," 
" And you are credulous enough to believe 
him ! Well, I confess I am astonished that 
a man who has lived in India as long as you 
have should listen to the words of the first 
native impostor that chances to stop at your 
door, Don't you know these budmask astrolo- 
gers are the greatest set of rogues ? My advice 
to you would be not to waste your time and 
money in digging up that forsaken spot. 
But if you wish to try, why, then, by all 
means go ahead, and good tuck attend 

"I think," said I, "although there is great 
truth in what you have said, that with your 
good leave I will make the attempt. Trea- 
sure-hunting is at least as good an occupation 
as sucking brandy-paw nee through a straw, 
and far less injurious to the liver." His eyes 
twinkled. I continued : u It will be a matter 
of no very great cost to set a few coolies to 
work to clear away the land. At all events, I 
have your consent ? M 

u Oh, certainly," he answered, "Dig up 
the whole of Kerozabad, if you please." 
"SuppMBjSlQMTm^^jyst for the sake of 


2 46 


argument, you know — that I do find any- 
thing, shall I be allowed to keep it? " 

" My poor, deluded friend/' he cried, 
laughing, "you wotfi find anything. If 
your astrologer knew of the existence of 
treasure in the Ram-Bagh, do you think he 
would have let you into the secret ? But if 
you do happen to discover an old coin or 
two, or a bit of antique pottery, why, don't 
tell anybody about it" 

" One thing more to crown the obligations 
lam under to you," said I, " Lest I should 
be interfered with during my explorations, 
will you give me a written permit to dig up 
the Ram-Bagh ? n 

He took a sheet of officially headed paper, 
scrawled a few lines upon it to the effect that 
I was at liberty to seek for treasure upon the 
spot named, and handed it to me. I thanked 
him, and quitted his office, quite sensible 
that I had sunk in his opinion as a weak- 
minded man whose head was to be turned 
by any native mendicant that should tell him 
a tale of buried gold, But, then, my worthy 
friend did not know of the little image that 
was in the brown-paper parcel which I held 
in my hand while I talked to him. 

My first act on returning to 
my bungalow was to summon 
my jiw, and go with him to 
take a view of the Ram-Bagh. 
The spot layabout ten minutes' 
walk outside the walls of the 
city in the direction of the 
Ajmere Gate, and about a 
quarter of a mile to the right 
of the ruins of Ferozabad, It 
was out of the way of any of 
the great roads leading into 
Delhi, and was probably never 
visited except, as I have said, 
by some miserable fakir or 
goojut seeking refuge in the 
dilapidated mosque that stood 
in the centre of the grounds. 
The place was altogether 
somewhere about three acres 
in extent, and inclosed by a 
crumbling wall 

The dreariness and desola- 
tion of the spot were unspeak- 
able. There was nothing in 
the hum and life of the great 
city near at hand to neutralize 
the profound sense of loneli- 
ness that came to one on 
entering the wild and over- 
grown sacred garden. Bald- 
headed vultures wrangled in 

harsh screams for scrap:; of carrion among 
the long grass, and clouds of flies, humming 
as they rose like locusts, hovered over the 
body of a dead jackal or the corpse of a 
famished dog. My servant told me that 
here, so tradition said, was to be seen the 
unearthly shape of the ghoul sporting in 
the moonbeams, though, for his own part, 
he had little doubt that the apparition 
which had presented itself to affrighted 
native eyes, in the form of some strange 
goblin, was nothing more than a wretched 
pariah looking for a place to lay his head. 

We climbed over the wall, treading most 
gingerly for fear of snakes, and Meer Alee 
led me to the spot where he had unearthed 
the little image, It was in a corner of the 
garden, where the undergrowth was less thick 
than in most places. He had only dug a 
hole of about 4ft. deep, and about a yard in 
diameter ; I saw exactly where he had found 
the little statue, for the impression of its 
grotesque form lay plain in the clayish soil. 
Having taken a brief survey of the Aif//, 1 re- 
turned with my j ivy*, deliberating plans for 
beginning operations next day* When we 
arrived at my bungalow, I said to Meer Alee : — 


1 uekk ah* t.0rjMjiffca4ifira*3fr." 



" Now, listen to what I am going to say to 
you. First of all, I have had your image tested, 
and it is of pure gold. Here it is. Next, 
I went to the Commissioner and obtained 
from him a written permission to dig in the 
Ram-Bagh for treasure. His advice to me 
was to keep all I found and say nothing 
about it; therefore, we shall know how to 
act in this respect Now, Meer Alee, as you 
have behaved so handsomely towards me, I 
wish to treat you equally well. Therefore, I 
make you this proposal : We will go into 
partnership over the undertaking ; I will find 
all the money requisite to hire labour to clear 
away the wild growth of the place and dig 
up the ground, and we will share equally of 
the profits of whatever we may find. Do you 
consent to this ? " 

"Sure, the Sahib is much too generous," 
replied he. 

" You think it a fair proposal, then ? " 

"Worthy of one of the just and righteous 
FeringheeSy our lords and masters," he 
answered, with Hindu humility, which was 
not without a twang of hypocrisy about it. 
But I saw that he was really very well satisfied, 
so I continued : — 

" It must be our business to keep as quiet 
as we possibly can over the matter. Once 
we let it get wind that we are seeking for 
treasure, people will come flocking about us, 
and it may end in the Government laying 
claim to whatever we discover, since the 
land is Crown property. We must have 
coolies to clear away the long grass before 
we can do anything. Where are we to get, 
say, half-a-dozen good, trusty fellows who may 
be relied upon to keep their own counsel ? " 

" If the Sahib will leave it to me, I will 
undertake by to-morrow to find six such men, 
who will eat of my chupattees^ and swear to 

" Good ! Tell them they shall be liberally 
rewarded for their services. Ten rupees a 
day each shall they have, and as much curry 
and bang as they can eat and drink." 

Meer Alee salaamed and withdrew. I 
was perfectly satisfied to leave the matter of 
employing labourers in his hands, for he was 
a native himself and would consequently have 
a good knowledge of the native character, 
and furthermore his interests were as much 
concerned as my own ; therefore, he would 
act with extreme caution. Had it not 
been for the discovery of the golden 
image, I should have been by no 
means so willing to give credence to the 
astrologer's story. Yet I considered it quite 
possible, too, that there might be current a 

tradition of buried treasure in the Ram-Bagh 
of Delhi. Among the Indian races history 
is perpetuated very much as it was in Homeric 
days : by word of mouth. Legends are 
handed down from generation to generation, 
and although in the course of ages the versions 
may become twisted out of all recognition of 
their original events, still they are based upon 
the truth. Not that I mean to say the mere 
circumstance of a strolling beggar calling at 
the door of my bungalow for alms, and 
bidding me dig in a certain spot, where I 
should find reward for my charity, would 
suffice to persuade me into entering upon the 
quest. But the discovery by Meer Alee put 
the matter beyond all dispute. It might 
happen that, almost by a miracle, he had 
chanced upon the only object of value con- 
cealed beneath the surface of the Ram-Bagh. 
But, at all events, the bringing to light of the 
little image of Gautama was a matter which, 
coming on top of the astrologer's story, might 
determine the most sceptical man upon 
making a search in the ancient sacred garden. 

My syce came to me after dinner that 
evening, and asked permission to go out into 
the Subzee Mundee for an hour or two. I 
guessed his motive, and readily gave my 
consent. He carried a small paper pack- 
age in his hand ; I asked him what he had 
there, and he answered "Chupattees." Now, a 
chupattee is nothing more or less than a little 
cake, made of unleavened flour and water, 
and constitutes the chief article of the 
Hindu's food. When a native requires any 
particular service from his brethren, accord- 
ing to an immemorial custom he takes a 
chupattee^ and, breaking it into pieces, dis- 
tributes the fragments amongst those whom 
he considers likely to answer his purpose. 
The men who accept the morsels are pledged 
to keep faith with him throughout any under- 
taking they may enter upon ; and be it said 
that no form of oath could be more binding 
in its moral effect upon the native mind than 
the receiving of the chupattee. Consequently, 
when Meer Alee showed me his little supply 
of these unsavoury cakes, I perfectly well 
gathered his intentions, and granted him un- 
conditional leave of absence. 

I did not see him again until the morning. 
He brought me my shaving water as usual, 
and, on my inquiring how he had fared 
during the previous night, he replied : — 

"I have got six men, Sahib. You may 
trust them to serve you faithfully and to 
keep your secret. They will all be in the 
Ram-Bagh at ten o'clock this morning with 
spades, readyitnriwgin work." 


2 4 8 


u Capital ! " I cried. u Meer Alee, you are 
a first-class fellow ! " He acknowledged the 
compliment by an abject obeisance, "You 
understand these coolies better than I do," I 
continued, " therefore, you had better act as 

Directly after breakfast I set out for the 
Ram-Ragh, clad in a suit of kharkee and 
knee -booty, a useful working costume in a 
hot climate. The season of the rains was 
just over, and the heat, even at noon, was 
never intolerable, although it was unwise to 
expose oneself to the sun. Meer Alee, 
whose fine eyes flashed with excitement, had 
gone on ahead of me, carrying such imple- 
ments for cutting away the tangled weeds as 
my little garden-house yielded. When I 
arrived, I found him stripped of everything 
save a cloth round his loins and a turban on 
his head, digging away as though for dear 
life : the hour was only a trifle past nine 
o'clock, and the coolies had not yet come. I 
would have made short work of the thick 
growth by burning it down had I not known 
that the smoke would attract a crowd to the 
spot, which was the very thing 1 did not 

" DlflGIKf; A WAV AS 1 llfiLiiLH Filtt *4F,Af IJW." 

However, in due course the half-dozen 
natives my servant had hired arrived. They 
were stout, likely- looking fellows, and came 
well armed with shovels and pickaxes, I 
spoke to them in Hindustani, briefly telling 
them that our purpose was to seek for a trea- 
sure which was reported to be hidden under 
the ground on which they stood. We then 
set to work in real earnest, and by the hour 
of noon, when I called a halt to rest, the 
coolies had cleared away a broad space of 
land extending the whole width of the imgh. 
The number of snakes, chiefly cobras, which 
lay hidden in the tall grass was incredible, 
and on several occasions one or another of 
the men had a narrow escape of being bitten 
by the disturbed reptiles, 

The shape of the Ram-Ragh was nearly 
square, and my idea was to start by digging 
a trench about 4ft. d^ep close up against the 
wall whence we began cutting down the 
growth, and work our way from this, turning 
up the soil till we had covered the whole 
length of the garden. I reckoned that an 
average depth of 4ft. would be sufficiently 
far to penetrate, since, being a little bit of a 
geologist, I perceived that the deposit of soil 
had been very slow on this spot. 
Whilst we were resting, a burkandaz^ 
or armed policeman, stepped into 
the inclosure and demanded to know 
what we were doing. I told him I 
had an order from the Commis- 
sioner at Delhi to clear the tangle 
weed of the place, upon which he 
saluted and went away again. 

Meer Alee, who was himself the 
most enthusiastic among the workers, 
turned the coolies to afresh after a 
short interval, and they laboured on 
with but little pause until sundown, 
by which time the Ram-Bagh looked 
as probably it had not looked for 
centuries past : a clear, level space, 
with the mass of sun-browned stuff 
which had converted it into a minia- 
ture jungle piled in a huge stack in 
one corner. All was now in readi- 
ness to begin digging, and I am free 
to confess it was with no small 
degree of anticipation that, on the 
following morning, I set the natives 
to work upon the trench I have 
already spoken of. 

The soil was of a loose, sandy 
character upon the surface and easily 
turned, though at a little depth it 
became stiff and clay-like. The coolies 
toil3tiginalfftionfieveral hours with- 




out lighting upon anything more than some 
fragments of broken pottery; then we came 
to our first find. This was neither money 
nor jewellery, but an elephant The animal 
lay upon its side about a yard below the 
surface, pressed as flat as a board, and in a 
wonderfully good state of preservation. Its 
hide was almost white, and I thought it quite 
possible that the animal had been one of the 
scarce sacred species, interred in the Ram- 
Bagh on its death. How long it had lain 
buried one could never come to know, yet 
from various things afterwards found at the 
same depth, I guessed it was at least a 
thousand years old. 

Our next discovery, made some yards 
away from the spot where we had come upon 
the elephant, was of a more welcome 
character. It consisted of a long-necked, 
brown earthenware vase, of the size of a 
large melon. The neck of it was filled up 
with clay, but on handling it the weight of 
the thing gave us to know that it was full of 
some heavy substance. I took a pickaxe 
from one of the natives, and by a cautiously 
directed blow shattered the vase : the riven 
fragments flew asunder, and out fell a mass of 
gold coins. Meer Alee gave a shrill cry of 
delight. I picked up one of the pieces, 
about the size and thickness of an English 
florin. I could decipher the date 1400 upon 
it, but the inscription was in some Oriental 
language unknown to me. I afterwards dis- 
covered that the coins were of the period of 
the bloodthirsty Tamerlane, who in 1399 
took the city of Ferozabad, and put 100,000 
people to the sword. There were 210 pieces 
in all, and their value was exactly ^460 
English currency. 

This was indeed a good beginning, and we 
went to work afresh with renewed vigour. I 
felt persuaded that somewhere within the 
walls of the Ram-Bagh there was a great 
treasure buried, compared with which the 
trifling discovery we had just made would be 
as a lac of rupees to a Nizam's revenue. 

Collecting the gold coins into my hand- 
kerchief, and securely binding them up, I 
bade Meer Alee carry them to my bungalow, 
and deposit them in a place of safety. He 
must have fled with the swiftness of the wind 
itself, for he was back again in ten minutes. 
The coolies worked as only a willing Hindu 
can work, and the earth flew in showers 
before the flashing blades of their shovels. 
But during the rest of the morning we dis- 
covered nothing more, save a large jadestone 
statue of some ancient native god, which 
was so damaged that I left it. 

Vol. ix.— 33. 

A thought came into my head whilst the 
little gang were taking their midday rest, and 
eating their mealies under the shadow of the 
bagh wall. I strolled towards the ruins of 
the temple, and entered. The place was, 
indeed, in a most terribly dilapidated con- 
dition. The roof was gone, and the crumbling 
walls stood gaunt, full of distorted archways 
and gaping chasms. Yet all the fallen 
stones had been at some time or other 
removed, probably for building purposes, and 
the floor of the place presented a clear 
surface, thickly carpeted with a sandy dust. 
I brushed aside a little space of this with my 
foot, and saw that the floor of the temple 
consisted of large stone flags. Wishing to 
get a clearer view of this pavement, and not 
desiring to disturb the natives at their dinner, 
I fetched a broom which I had observed one 
of the coolies deposit in a corner of the 
inclosure, and with my own hands, despite 
the suffocating clouds that arose, I laid bare 
a large square patch. The flags were laid 
not close together, but at intervals of about a 
couple of inches apart, the interstices between 
being filled up flush with dust 

In sweeping aside the rubbish, I had taken 
notice of a long, rusty iron spike, like a ten- 
penny nail. I now went and sought this, 
picked it up, and stooping down, ran it 
along the chinks betwixt the flagging of the 
floor. Out spurted a quantity of dirt, 
scattering itself right and left, and — could I 
believe my eyes ? — amongst the grains of 
dust there rolled forth a number of pearls ! 
I remained idly looking at the little sparkling 
white gems whilst one might have counted a 
hundred, too much staggered to realize the 
sudden amazing revelation of a hidden 
treasure, which, for all I could tell, was 
perhaps to be computed in millions. Then 
I fell upon my knees, and collected all the ' 
pearls I could see ; about twenty I think 
there were. None of them were very large 
or of great value; but there could be no 
shadow of doubt that they were genuine 
gems, and if the floor of the temple was 
going to disgorge jewels in this fashion, there 
might be many magnificent prizes amongst 

I put the pearls I had gathered up care- 
fully in my coat pocket, stepped back again 
into the bagh) and beckoned to Meer Alee. 
He approached me, and I turned aside in a 
half-careless way, as though I were going to 
speak to him on some matter of no great 
moment, so that the other natives should not 
observe ip> r j a j na | from 

WRsffrtiW^Atf you '" said h 



subduing my voice, though excitement was 
now working deep in me ; tl I have dis- 
covered where the real treasure of the Ram- 
Bagh lies." 

He stared at me in his mild way, and said, 
"Yes, Sahib?" 

M It is beneath the floor of yonder temple," 
I exclaimed. u Look what I have just found 
among the flag-stones there," and drawing 
forth the handful of pearls, I exposed them 
to his view, 

His eyes sparkled, and he said, " By the 
faith of my fathers, but the astrologer spoke 
true words ! Ji 

iS We will abandon digging in the grounds 
for the present/' said I, "and set the coolies 
to work to raise the stones of the temple 
pavement, I got the pearls merely by scrap- 
ing between the chinks of the flags with a 
rusty nail. Who can tell what may be 
concealed beneath?" 

On this he bustled away, and I heard 
him exhorting the Hindu labourers to 
work with a will, making an offer of in- 
creased reward. The coolies moved in 
a body towards the temple, and began 
lustily clearing away the dust from the 
floor, which rose in dense clouds into 
the air. An hour sufficed them to lay 
bare the flag -stones withii the ruined 
walls. Stooping to inspect 
them more narrowly, I now 
perceived that they were 
formed of the fin est porcelain. 
I determined to start ex- 
cavating from one corner of 
the place, working my way 
diagonally across the whole 
width of it We found that 
the tiles, which were about 
aft, square t needed little 
effort to raise them : if they 
had ever been cemented the 
stuff ha d er u m b I ed a w a y 
long ago* Under the first 
dozen or so of these which 
the natives lifted the yellow 
soil lay as flat as the top of 
a table. I carefully worked 
about among the dust on 
the surface with my fingers, 
but found nothing in the 
way of precious stones. 
When as many of the tiles 
had been removed as laid 
bare a space about the area 
of a good sized room, I 
told the natives to begin lo 
dig. Almost the very first tQJK** 

blow of the shovels into the yielding 
ground gave back a sharp metallic chink. I 
heard it and sprang to the spot, crying to the 
fellows to be careful lest the blades of 
their spades should injure the object 
they had lighted upon. They began 
gingerly scraping away the soil, and pre* 
sently uncovered what proved to be a 
most beautiful model of a pagoda, in pure 
gold, and, as I afterwards found, of Chinese 
workmanship. One corner of this lovely toy 
had been chipped away by the workman's 
shovel, otherwise it was completely intact. 
The size of it was about i8in. square at the 
base, and it weighed nearly lolb, 

I fear that I should weary you, besides 
spinning out my yarn beyond all admissible 
limits, if I were to recount step by step 
the story of our excavation of the floor 
of that ruined temple in the Ram-Bagh. 
We were three days in lifting all the tiles, 
a nd searc h i ng t h e soi 1 u nder nca t h. W e f o u n d 
a great number of stone coffins, containing 
the bodies of Hindu men whose rank 
had entitled them to burial in the wm^/i/— all 


Original from 




in a wonderful state of preservation, although 
they crumbled away into powder shortly after 
being exposed to the air. In every case these 
coffins contained money and jewels, the 
former of these showing by their dates that 
they covered a period extending from the 
reign of the atrocious Jenghiz Khan, in the 
thirteenth century, down to the days of 
Aurung-Zeb in the middle of the seventeenth 
century. From some forty-seven tombs thus 
opened we got in all gold pieces to the value 
of ,£9,000 sterling, and jewels to nearly 
treble that value. 

But this was not all. With my own hands 
I collected from among the dust which lined 
the interstices of the tiles as many pearls as 
would have filled to the brim a pint measure. 
They were all pearls : not a gem of any other 
description was among them, and roughly I 
estimated the worth of them at about 
,£1,200. Many remarkable curiosities of 
treasure did we unearth, for the most part in a 
perfect state of preservation. One object in 
particular, which I thought the most exquisite 
piece of workmanship I had ever set eyes 
upon, was dug out by my syce. It consisted 
of a flower-pot of virgin gold, delicately 
wrought in filigree, containing a plant about 
i8in. high. The stem of this plant was of 
silver : the wide-spreading leaves of gold, 
densely studded with emeralds, causing 
the whole to stream with brilliant green 
fires. The marvellous skill of the Oriental 
goldsmith was never better illustrated 
than in this incomparable work of art. 
Another wonderfully beautiful toy was found 
by one of the coolies. This was a birdcage 
of golden wires, containing the representation 
of some gorgeously plumed bird in precious 
stones. The body was of rubies, streaked 
with turquoises ; the pinions were diamonds, 
and the eyes were two tiny moonstones. 

Of gold and silver pieces of mortey we 
found such a surprising quantity in various 
spots beneath the floor of the temple, and 
particularly in the coffins I have already 
mentioned, that we literally grew weary of 
collecting the coins. I caused a number of 
bags to be made, in each of which I placed 
as many of the pieces as it was convenient 
to carry at one load, dispatching them to my 
bungalow by Meer Alee, and by the time 
we had concluded our search in the Ram- 
Bagh, I had twenty-three of these bags in my 
private room. The greater bulk of this 
treasure was gold coins of various dates 
during the Mogul dynasty. 

We likewise discovered fourteen little 
images of gold, all more or less like the one 

Meer Alee had first shown me; a quantity 
of daggers and small swords of various 
curious patterns, with hilts incrusted in 
precious stones ; several splendid caskets 
full of articles of jewellery; large breast 
shields of pure gold, bearing emblematic 
devices ; a superb spray of diamonds which 
had probably formed the plume of a great 
Rajah's turban ; some jadestone carvings, 
chiefly of native gods, and a quantity of 
broken fragments of gold. As we finished 
our search in one part of the ruined building, 
so I obliged the workmen to shovel back the 
soil into its place, and lay the tiles afresh, in 
order that should we be suddenly interrupted 
during our operations, the intruder, whoever 
he might be, should not be able to perceive 
what we were at. But in all the while we 
were exploring the grounds and temple of the 
Ram-Bagh not a soul came near the place, 
saving the burkandaz of whom I have already 
spoken. One evening, whilst we were still 
working in the garden, my friend the Com- 
missioner drove over after dinner to visit me 
at my bungalow. 

He presently |>aid, "Have you got any 
treasure yet from that dirty old spot ? " 

I answered, " Yes, we have found several 
curious things. I will show you some of 
them." And then I produced one of the 
little golden images and about a dozen coins. 
I set these upon the table before him. Then 
said he : — 

"There may be more of these sort of 

" No doubt there are," I answered. 

" I think, on reflection," said he, stroking 
his moustache, "that I may perhaps have 
exceeded the power vested in me by giving 
you permission to search for treasure and to 
keep all you found in the Ram-Bagh. As 
Crown Agent, you will easily understand that 
it is a point of honour with me to look after 
Crown property." 

"My excellent sir," I exclaimed, "you 
have but to express your wish, and I will dis- 
continue digging at once. I am not avaricious, 
and the few trifles I have already unearthed 
will satisfy me, seeing that I have your per- 
mission to keep them. You must admit that 
I deserve some share of the treasure for being 
the first to reveal its existence. So let what 
I have already got constitute that share, and 
meanwhile do me the pleasure to accept that 
quaint little image and those coins in token 
that the words of a Hindu astrologer are net 
always to be disregarded." 

He stared at me steadily and said : — 



" What makes you suspect it ? " 

" Your liberality, for one thing,'* 

"Now, see here," 1 exclaimed, " I will tell 
you what I have done. You gave me per- 
mission to search the Ram-Itagh for treasure 
and to keep what I found On the strength 
of this I set to work, hired labour, and had 
the pestilential old place cleared out That 
in itself was a distinct service, Next, I 
have only explored about one-third of the 
garden, and the temple in the centre of it. 
The rest of the grounds are all ready for 
digging up, but they have not been touched. 
None knows of this secret saving you and me, 
my syce t and the coolies I employed. Now, I 
will not turn another sod myself, for I am quite 
satisfied with what I have already got. The 
place simply teems with buried treasure, The 
six natives who have been working for me are 
thoroughly trusty fellows, and have eaten nf 
my faithful servant's din pallets^ consequently 
their lips are sealed, They will go to work 
at sunrise to-morrow morning, as usual, but I 
shall not be there. Meer Alee will attend, 
and tell them they may now dig for another 
master. Do you understand me?" 

He sprang towards me and grasped my 
hand. "You have given me 
a fortune," cried he, 

"And the Government?" 
said I, drily. 

" Is always pleased to have 
waste lands cleared and 
rendered fit for cultivation," 
he answered, with a slow 

" I never knew before 
that you were a humorist," 
said I. 

He left my house that 
evening in wonderfully good 
spirits, and a month later, 
to the astonishment of every- 
body, he gave up his high 
Civil Service appointment 
for no apparent reason, and 
quitted India to return to 

To conclude this narrative 
of treasure-finding : I told 
Meer Alee what I had done, 
in promising to desist from 
digging any further, and ex- 
plained that my motive had 
been to conciliate the Com- 
missioner, lest an avaricious 
policy on our part should lead 



to a demand from the Government to give 
up what we had already got He looked a 
little discontented at first, but speedily ad- 
mitted that I had done wisely* " And, after 
all, Sahib/' said he, with his bland smile, 
« we have got enough." 

Then came the question of turning the 
treasure into sterling currency. This, in 
India, is never a matter of very great difficulty, 
I contrived to get something resembling 
a fair price for my valuable property from the 
haggling Brahmins, When all was sold, and I 
came to calculate the amount yielded, I found 
that Meer Alee and myself had very nearly five 
lacs of rupees to divide ; which at the then 
exchange value came to near upon ,£45,000 
in English money. 

The last time I saw Meer Alee was in 
London. The handsome fellow was parading 
Pall Mall in the costume of a West-end 
dandy, and a fine, commanding figure he 
looked for all the incongruity of his garb* 
He spied me, and came hounding across the 
road. I shook him warmly by the hand 
and inquired what he was doing in 
England He told me that, feeling 
a curiosity to view the country of the 
Feringkees, he had come to 
London about six years ago 
along with a young Parsee 
student, who had taught him 
English during the voyage. 
He liked London so well 
that he continued to 
prolong his visit, u until," 
said he, with his old, mild 
smile : — 

41 1 don't suppose I shall 
ever return now." 

I gazed at his frock-coat, 
and his curly-brimmed Bond 
Street hat, his umbrella, 
gloves, and elegant boots, 
and could scarcely realize 
that this remarkably well- 
dressed Hindu was indeed 
the same syce who had so 
faithfully served me through 
the Mutiny. I saw by his 
face that he read my 
thoughts, and said, " What 
a wonderful transformation, 
Meer Alee." 

*' Yes," he answered ; " all 
due to the Ram-Bagh, But, 
excuse me, my name is now 

by Google 

Original from 

Monsieur Got. 

The Father of the Comedie Fran^aise. 
By the Baroness Althea Salvador. 

Frum a FkvU>, by] 


[Btnqut & Oct.* Pari*. 

HE last night of January, 1895, 
witnessed the final appearance 
of the eminent actor, M. Got, 
who, since the 1st of Novem- 
ber, had been performing the 
round of characters created by 
him during his half-century of service in the 
House of Moliere. In 1842, M. Got 
obtained the second prize for comedy at the 
Paris Conservatoire, and in 1843 the first 
prize was his award. Then he entered the 
Comedie Franca ise, and made his dllmf 
as a domestic His success was assured, 
and at that time even, his advancement 
would have been rapid had he not been 
obliged to serve as a soldier, After a short 
time spent in Algeria, he decided that he had 
more talent for the theatre than for the army. 
11 Yes," said the colonel, " you are right. 
Return to the theatre. Here you could not 
have risen very high, but on the stage you 
will never be anything," 

This was not very encouraging, but Got 
had confidence in himself, and at an early 
period in his career created several r$/es 3 
among the most important of which was that 
of Giboyer in Emile Angler's (t Fils de 

Since then, Got's principal characters have 
been Jonquil* re's fean de Tkomery ; the rabbi 
of "I/Ami Frits"; Maltrt Pierre, of "La 
Farce de Maitre Pathelin " ; Brissot, of 
"Denise " ; the grandfather, in "Flibustier " ; 

and the priest, in " II ne faut jurer de rien." 
But never was the great actor more applauded 
than in October last, when he created the 
part oi Hibus^ in Jean Richepin's " Vers la 
Joie*" Bibus is the shepherd, doctor, philo- 
sopher of the piece, and here Got had an 
opportunity of declaiming the finest verses. He 
made us forget the actor and think only of real 
life. (Jot is the first member of the Gom^die 
Frangaise who has attained his fiftieth anniver- 
sary* Mole, Pr<§ville,Gu£rin, and LaThorillibre 
all counted many years of service, but did not 
approach the half-century. On July 17th, 
1894, the actors, actresses, machinists, and em- 
ployh of the Comedie Fran^aise, in all eighty 
persons, celebrated, by a family breakfast at 
Saint-Germain-en-I J aye > the fiftieth anniversary 
of M- Got's connection with the House of 
Moliere. At the close of the dejeuner \ M, 
Jules Claretie, the manager, made a brilliant 
speech. Mounet-Sully's remarks related to 
the wonderful career of the oldest sociitaire ; 
Le Bargy, a favourite pupil of Got, read a 
touching essay ; and Coquelin Cadet brought 
the "admiration of the absent," 

The real dramatic career of Got dates from 
his performance of the priest in Alfred de 
Musset's "II ne faut jurer de rien." TWo- 
phile Gautier wrote in 1848 : " Gat has made 
of this personage a living and animated 
silhouette, full of curious faults, and without 
caricatured' When Got reached the zenith 
of his talent and reputation, he did not 


2 54 


from <t Fhtftu, &y) 

M* GOT IN lSj6. 

\y-adar, Paris. 

disdain to resume the characters in which 
he had made his early success* He has 
never been vain of his talent, but always 
proud of his art. A desire for effect has 
never lessened his good sense, and he has 
always been known as a " reasonable artist." 

Indeed, the finish, the perfection of his 
art is not due to inspiration, but to premedi- 
tation. Got presents a curious and rare 
phenomenon — the union of profound logic 
and great imagination. Hut this imagination 
is only allowed play at intervals. It never 
dominates truth, the solid foundation of 
studies, pursued by every conscientious artist. 

M. (Jot is professor at the Conservatoire, 
and on Mondays and Thursdays, the days 
on which he gives lessons, he rises at eight. 
At nine he mounts a Passy-Louvre omnibus, 
for he lives at a little suburb of Paris called 
Bonlainvilliers. Every omnibus conductor 
knows Got, for he never takes a cab : even 
after a performance at the theatre, when the 
applause has been most enthusiastic, he 
hastens to change his dress, so that he may 
not miss the last omnibus. Some of the 
actor's friends call this " principle " ; others 
say he is actuated only by motives of economy* 
In spite of his effort at early rising on the 
day of his lessons (for he usually sleeps 
very late in the morning), (Jot is always late 
at the Conservatoire, However, he remains 

there longer, in order to compensate his 
pupils for the time lost. His costume never 
varies : in winter, a loose redingote of 
broadcloth, and in summer a sack-coat of 
the same material The hat is always silk, 
with broad, straight brim, pressed down to 
his nose. When he reaches the Conserva- 
toire, he is respectfully saluted by his pupils ; 
but he merely nods and waits impatiently 
until his assistant has called over rhe 
names. When the assistant has retired, Got 
says : lt Well, my children, whose turn is it 
now ? " Little by little, the actor becomes 
animated and witty, never hesitating to ex- 
press his opinion, even when it is most 
unflattering to his pupils. Sometimes the 
actor goes to the theatre to advise young 
artists, sometimes to assist in mounting 
plays ; and his opinion of manager, author, 
play, and artists is very frank — perhaps too 
frank for those criticised. 

Got once told me that the former admitns- 
frakur f Pcrrin, understood the Comedie 
Fran^aise, and knew how to manage actors 
and authors, " Jules Claretie is very amiable t 
but weak ; he does not rule, but is ruled. 
I am fond of Mounet-Sully as a friend ; but, 
as a comrade on the stage, he is too self- 
sufficient and too easily ruffled. Ccquelin 

Ij J^flflt, 

From a Photo. t*v Btnvue <f- Co., Pai 




From a Phota by] 


[Berv7tfe it (&., Pari* 


airtf should never have been taken back 
treasury has suffered thereby." 

Got is not a talker, and never gossips with 
the actors and actresses. He is very con- 
scientious ; he has a right to a certain number 
of seats at the theatre, hut he never gives 
them to his friends, because that would lessen 
the receipts. 

His dressing-room is very simply furnished : 
there is not a picture, not a drawing in it, 
but everywhere one sees swords. There are 
two tiny rugs, one for each foot, and a table 
with all the materials for " making up," 
When he is dressed, the actor leaves his 
room and strolls through the corridors, wait- 
ing until he is " called." He tells you that 
he is always frightened before going on the 
stage — that his heart beats violently ; but, 
after the first word, his calmness returns. After 
a scene, sometimes he is gay, and makes witty 
speeches in the corridors. At other times, 
he is melancholy, sits down and speaks to no 
one. Got cares very little for luxury* His 
home is as simply furnished as his dressing- 
room at the theatre, and during all these 
years he has only possessed one work of art— 
his own portrait by Carpeaux. It was painted 
by candle-light, and the artist's thumb re- 
placed a brush* Its strength made so great 
an impression/ that Haquette created a 
portrait of Got by throwing the paint on the 
canvas. This portrait is remarkably powerful, 
but does not belong to the actor, 

Got has a wonderful library, and when he 
has not to go to the theatre, he smokes a 
pipe, and reads or works in the garden. He 
looks like a priest, and this resemblance to 
an ecclesiastic nearly cost him his life during 




G"AGREri'A. + 

the Commune. 
Then he lived 
in London as 
director of the 
company of the 
Com&jie Fran- 
^aise. He and 
his comrades 
tried to earn a 
little money by 
giving perform- 
ances, as the 
theatre had not 
a penny In its 
treasury. One 
day, Got was 
obliged to re- 
turn to Paris, 
and when he 
left London 
he said to his 
comrades : 
that I play the day after to-morrow," Un- 
fortunately, he fell into the hands of the 

" Who are you, and where are you going?" 
" I am Got, of the Comedie Frangaise, and 
I am going to London." 

"You are not (Jot: you are the vicar of 

" I have never been a priest : see, I 
have 110 tonsure ! " 

But the poor actor was carried to the 
Place du Trone, and placed with the other 
prisoners in an improvised prison. At the 
close of day, the Communists took him out 
of prison, and said: "As you are an actor, 
recite something for us, Go on. Recite some 
verses* " When he had finished, they said : 
'•Perhaps you are Got ; in any case, you are 

The fact was that the commander was an 
Italian, and Got, speaking that language, was 
able to explain the situation* and thus save 
his life. Got never attempts to learn his 
parts. He reads them over two or three 
times, and, while reading, tries to form an 
idea of the personage he is to represent. 
He reflects about people whom he knows, 
chooses a characteristic from this one, an- 
other from that, and so composes his part. 
For example, the priest he impersonates in 
"II ne faut jurer de rien " was a replica of 
the priest in his regiment, Got studied care- 
fully this country abbe — simple, ignorant 
of the world — and, as a result, Parisians 
were presented with a priest of irreproach- 
able taste, and delightfully true to nature. 

Got says : " In order to succeed as an 
actor one must work very hard, and be the 
favourite of chance. Whenever a young 
man comes to ask my advice, I say, ' My 
friend, if you can do something else, do it ; 
but do not enter upon a theatrical life.' But 
the young man never pays any attention to 
this advice, and that is one reason why so 
many actors fail I never, or rarely, make a 
mistake in my judgment As soon as one of 
my pupils recites a phrase, I know what he 
can do. It is the same with plays. Often I 
listen to the reading of a play at the Comedie 
Fran^aise out of respect for the author ; but 
from the first scene I know if he be a 
dramatist. Only once have I been mistaken 
about the success of a play, 

" When Scribe read us his * Contes de la 
Reine de Navarre/ I was shocked, for the 
play seemed absolutely absurd. Scribe was 
then the fashionable author, and as I was 
obliged to vote after the reading, I thought, 
4 Everybody will put in a black ball, and 
there must be one ball in favour of Scribe, if 
only to please him : a white ball would be 
too flattering, so I will put in a red one ! p 
Judge of my stupefaction when I found that 
mine was the only red ball — all the others 
were white ! That play was represented a 
hundred times ; but, in spite of its success, I 
have never modified my opinion, I have 
always thought that more was due to the 
talent of Madeleine Brohan than to the play 

Original frarh' 



It is interesting to know that the artist who 
recently celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of 
his connection with the House of Moliere 
once brought it into the law courts. In 
1865, displeased at the regulations which 
imperilled the privileges and dignity of the 
association, and discouraged because his 
efforts to reform abuses were without avail, 
Got tendered his resignation. Its refusal 
was the cause of the lawsuit that resulted in 
Got remaining a socittaire* 

had been appropriated for the use of the 
Government, and great was the discontent 
of the students in the Latin Quarter. It was 
known that the Emperor and Empress would 
honour the theatre with their presence, and 
from pit to gallery the house was filled with 
students, who saluted Napoleon III. by singing 
" Luxembourg — Luxembourg," to the famous 
air of " lampions 7! — a souvenir of 1848. 

The courtiers were naturally irate> but the 
students bade adieu to the monarch with 

Prawn. Fhalu. by\ 

U. OOf. Mri KV 

TIM'. CAST OY " VKkS LA JOIE" AT Tllli COMftolE FKAN^AISE. [1m 1'hittnffrnjthie A&HmlU. PutU^ 


Soon afterwards, Emile Augier wished Got to 
create a part in his new comedy, " Contagion/ 1 
to be produced at the Odeon. Gut's request 
to undertake the character was refused, but 
the Emperor ordered him to appear at the 
Gde*on and create the part of Lagarde in the 
new play. " Contagion" caused great curiosity 
and much excitement, as it was rumoured that, 
in the character of Baton d ' Estrtgant 7 Augier 
had wished to depict the Due de Morny. 
The play was represented just at the time 
when a portion of the Luxembourg Gardens 

4 * Luxembourg — Luxembourg." The Imperial 
carriages were obliged to pass slowly through 
the Rue Corneille and the Rue de 1'Odeon, 
while the police were unable to prevent a 
compact crowd from hissing and insulting the 
Emperor and Empress. Four years later 
came the end of the Empire, and hardly a 
voice was raised in its defence- Notwith- 
standing this disturbance, Emile Augier's 
comedy had a great success ; but Got, eclipsed 
by Berton as the hero, returned to his old 
home, where he remained ever since. 

Vol, i 


by Google 

Original from 

The Storm. 

From the French of Arm and Silvestre. 

P was at the little hamlet of 
Pilhoel, one of the wildest 
on the coast of Brittany, almost 
savage in its environment of 
blue rocks ? the nigged crests 
of which were reddened by 
the setting sun, with the sea, rampant like a 
chained lion, or furious and hurling its 
sonorous waves to the very thresholds of the 
houses above ; while, inland, the country 
was sheltered and smiling with flowers in all 
seasons, as in a greenhouse — a sunny zone, 
where camellias blossomed in the open air. 

i*\t that time Filhoel was a corner un- 
known to tourists, and a few painters who 
went there to sketch took care not to lead 
thither the importune crowd of elegants and 
curious. Fifty houses at most, all inhabited 
by fishermen, stood under the shadow of the 
ruined church, the cracked bell of which 
frightened even the sea-gulls on the shore. 
During the working days of the week, none 
but women with children hanging to their 
skirts were to be seen moving about between 
the dwelling-places* AH the men were away 

On Sundays their long nets were spread 
along the weather-stained white of the house- 
walls, holding in their tneshes silver spangles 
which glittered in the light ; and there was a 
world of poor people, all resigned, pious, and 
knowing nothing of the unwholesome dream- 

ings of city dwellers^ but full of faith and 

There is in France — at least 3 on the borders 
of the sea— no village, however humble, which 
has not its pearl of beauty. It was no un- 
truth so to call Jeanne, the prettiest girl in 
Pilhoel. The humblest garments— for she 
w r as one of the poorest girls in the hamlet- 
could not disguise her inherent grace and 
beauty. Her superbly-designed bare feet, 
her little hands, which hard toil had often 
wounded, were signs unconquerable of natural 
aristocracy. Good and modest above all the 
girls about her, she had, none the less, a 
love-secret in her heart* 

She was sixteen, and he whom she loved 
was four years older : a handsome youth who, 
equally with herself, felt the flow of noble 
blood in his veins. Something of instinctive 
worth was betrayed in his least gestures, and 
a proud melancholy was strongly expressed 
in his face. He was skilful in his calling and 
bravest of the brave ; with all that, a dreamer, 
taking little part in the Sunday sports on the 
square in front of the church, but oftener, 
at the hour when Jeanne was listening to the 
vespers and singing the verses, re-entering 
the holy building, and, at the foot of 
a pillar, contemplating her in the shadow 
scarcely penetrated by the yellow rays of 
the altar candles ; or wandering away to 
the deserted sea-shore to think of her, the 
music of the waves seeming to bear away to 

" WAKUKklFiiii AWAY TO TNK DFUKkThr* >F:.V l H> 


nal from 


2 59 

far-off horizons the frail bark of his unspoken 

What was it separated these two beings, so 
completely made to unite their laborious and 
resigned existence ? Their common poverty. 
Both were orphans. Loehic had earned his 
scanty living in service on the boats, and 
only, at last, had been able to buy one for 
himself, and such a boat ! — the oldest and 
most sea-battered of the little fleet ! j 

As to Jeanne, she had been reared by her 
old Aunt Mathurine, who had brought her 
np with infinite tenderness, but, at the same 
time, promising herself not to allow her niece 
to marry any but a man who would be 
in a position to assure her (Mathurine) ■« 
a comfortable provision for her old age. 
For there is always a basis of selfish- 
ness in our devotion. 

This man she had chosen without say- 
ing anything about it: it was Mathias, 
the pilot, who was looked up to by the whole 
fishing community of the little hamlet. A 
rough man, with his weather-beaten lace and 
hands of bronze, yet hale and hearty in spite 
of his fifty years ; who had often faced 
Death, from whom he had snatched his in- 
tended victims ; and who had made enough 
fortune to insure his ease and allow him to 
retire from his perilous calling. He . had 
known Jeanne in her infancy, had danced 
her on his knees, and had seen her grow with 
increasing and affectionate interest And 
Mathurine, who had the natural sharpness uf 
all peasants, had guessed that the old pilot 
was in love with this flower of grace, slowly 
expanding under his eyes. 

But Mathias was no fool, and when he 
thought of his age he laughed at himself, 
and again became paternal with the young 
girl, who, innocent creature, had never even 
Suspected the combat that was being waged 
in the old sailors heart With him she was 
always the same — simple, frank, and some- 
times cruelly charming ; admiring him, but 
in the way in which patriarchs are venerated. 

All her tenderness was reserved for Loehic, 
and, knowing that her aunt was opposed 
to her marriage with him, she had resolved 
to remain unwed rather than become the 
wife of any other man, She had sworn it 
to him one evening when they had met upon 
the shore in the soft moonlight, broken by 
the sea into a rain of gold ; at one of those 
mysterious hours, sweet to lovers, when their 
hearts seem to open widest to solemn con- 
fidences, when their souls bathe deliciously 
in the same concert of abandonment and 
sincerity ; he had even placed upon her 

Digitized by Cj* 

finger a ring in remembrance of her 
promise- — a poor brass ring, but one which 
Monseigneur the bishop had blessed at the 
last confirmation, 

" Before God I am your betrothed," she 
had said to him, all her soul vibrating in her 
voice, "and death alone can part my thoughts 
from yours ! " 

And both had melted into tears, the bitter 
drops of which ran down im their lips, 
mingling with the salt vapours rising from 
the waves and the tossing seaweeds of the 
shore. And from the shelter of a block of 
granite, in the Ai/ide, he had plucked a wild 


flower and given it to her, and she had placed 
it between two leaves of her poor " Book of 
Hours," the face towards a picture of the 
Virgin hearing this epigraph: "Ave maris 
Stella" And she turned her eyes towards a 
star, on the golden eyelashes of which a tear 
of pity seemed to tremble. 

Both had moved away, overcome by this 




idyll, but confident in each other, expecting 
nothing of men, but everything from some 
marvellous and heavenly intervention, which 
would not permit the future viewed by them 
with a like tenderness to be for ever de- 
stroyed, or that such a dream as theirs should 
be the eternal despair of their lives. 

After that supreme interview, existence 
had, so to speak, returned to them. Loehic 
every day, without rest or truce, risked his 
life in his miserable boat for trifling gains ; 
and Jeanne repaired the nets of old or un- 
married fishermen for a small piece of money, ' 
which Aunt Mathurine dropped into the 
throat of a nearly empty purse. 


There was a fete that day at Pilhoel. The 
pilot, Mathias, had solemnly retired. He 
had said farewell to the fleet he had com- 
manded, and his old companions, to do him 
honour, and in gratitude for the services he 
had rendered them, had organized a series of 

As soon as it was daylight they went to his 
cottage, to play the drum and fire guns and 
pistols under his windows. Then the maidens 
"brought him a large bouquet, which was 
presented by Jeanne ; which made the old 
sailor's tanned face blush as red as a peony 
with pleasure. Then full cups of the best 
cider — which had been bottled months before 
in anticipation of the event — were drained, 
and the glory of the old pilot commemorated 
in song. 

Loehic had not been the least active in 
all these proceedings ; for he felt towards 
Mathias a child-like admiration mixed with a 
confiding sympathy. Many times he had 
been on the point of confessing to him his 
tenderness for Jeanne and asking his advice 
-for how could he, for a moment, imagine 
that venerable Mathias had ever regarded 
her with other than fatherly feelings? At 
twenty, people think those who are fifty years 
of age veritable Methuselahs. 

As was proper, this touching ceremony was 
not left without its comic side. This was 
secured to it by Aunt Mathurine, by the 
offering of a pair of slippers embroidered by 
herself — a garden in tapestry, with roses 
resembling cabbages and birds that might 
readily be mistaken for gnats : for Mathurine 
had, in her youth, been in service in one of 
the large towns, and had acquired genteel 
accomplishments. The old sailor, who had 
never in his life worn anything but sabots, 
felt an enormous temptation to burst into a 
roar of laughter. 

.zed by Google 

" If it makes ncr difference to you, 
Mathurine," he said, " Til wear 'em on my 
hands in winter-time, to play the dandy in at 
the High Mass." 

And, by way of thanks, he clapped on 
the old girl's two cheeks a pair of such 
hearty kisses as, for a moment, made her 
teeth rattle in her head like castanets. 

Everybody had that morning made holiday 
for this rejoicing, which was followed by a 
copious repast, and ended with a rigadoon, 
accompanied by Mathurine on the guitar — 
a superannuated instrument which had been 
given to her by one of her old employers, 
and which distilled under her meagre fingers 
some vinegary notes, falling drop by drop, as 
it were, into the tormented ear. But they 
had no refined notions as to music at Pilhoel, 
and so this performance of Aunt Mathurine, 
embroidered by the gruntings of a bagpipe, 
played by a lad whose execution had come to 
him naturally and wholly without study, 
seemed to all who heard it as charming as 
any music could be. 

AH this revelling had filled the morning 
down to one o'clock, and the time was then 
come for putting off to sea, to make up for 
the early lost hours of the day. 

It was in the month of September, and the 
forenoon had been particularly bright. The 
sun had risen over the ocean in mist, which 
had speedily been consumed by its rays and 
had melted, like the last cloud of smoke at a 
conflagration, into the rosy light. The intense 
azure of the zenith paled down to the horizon, 
where the blue of the sea blended with that 
of the sky in a long kiss — the insensible line 
between reality and dream, between the 
region of' stars and the region of tempests. 

The mild air — too warm, perhaps, for the 
season — was scarcely tinctured with salt, but 
laden with the life-giving perfumes, the nourish- 
ing breath of the immense living thing which 
breathes along the land and warms it with 
the beatings of its heart. On seeing the few 
tiny copper clouds which the dawn had 
rapidly driven before it, some of the weather- 
prophets had said that the day would not 
pass without a storm. 

But this threat seemed to have withdrawn 
behind the glittering curtains of the firma- 
ment, and in the gaieties of Mathias's fete 
had passed from the minds of all. Joyously, 
therefore, the sails had been unbound from 
the masts, dressed with flags for the occasion, 
when, suddenly and unexpectedly, they were 
caught by a rude puff of wind and filled even 
before they were completely spread, w T hile a 
violet-hued vapour rose above the horizon, 



2 1 1 J 

presently shaping itself into a long, slate- 
coloured blade, widening itself obliquely, and 
cutting the azure sky as with a shadowy knife. 

"There'll be a tempest presently!" said 
Mathias. u Take care of yourselves, boys ! " 

" Ah ! you have done well to quit the 
business^ my good Mathias ! " Aunt Mathurine 
murmured softly in his ear, 

Jeanne looked sadly on while Loehic 
adjusted, as well as he could, the rough and 
torn sail which, like a wounded wing, was to 
bear him out to sea. His soul was heavily 
oppressed by melancholy. When he had 
wished to dance with Jeanne, old Mathurine 
had made at him, through her diabolical 
spectacles, such a pair of eyes, that he had 
not dared to invite the young girl At table, 
before that, they had been placed as far as 
possible apart from each other ; so that what 


had been a pleasure to everybody else, had 
been for him nothing but a punishment. 
Never had he felt so completely downcast. 

Digitiz Google 

So, when passing near him, while her aunt 
was offering a pinch of snuff to Mathias, 
Jeanne had said to him : — 

"Don't go out to sea, my Loehic, I beg 
of you ! " 

The only reply he had been able to make 
to her was :— 

"Oh, let me go ! — I wish to die." 


A heavy gloom poisoned the departure after 
the gaiety of the morning, and many a furtive 
tear mingled with the farewells along the 
range of boats into which the men were 
climbing, to go in quest of the daily bread 
for which they daily prayed. 

The prediction of Mathias had troubled 
the minds of the most courageous ; the old 
pilot knew so well the ocean and its treasons ! 
Hut all had solid boats, and 
well fitted to withstand the 
onslaughts of the waves. 
Then, they were not going 
far out, but meani to con- 
tent themselves with fishing 
within sight of the coast, 
ready for a prompt return, 
in case the winds and waves 
should prove too hostile, 
loehic alone, in his shattered 
boat, would run any real 

"Take my better boat, lad," 
said Mathias, with rough 

But, for the first time, the 
poor young fellow had noticed 
the old man's assiduities to 
Jeanne, and with what fond 
eyes he bad gazed upon her, 
and he answered, shortly : — 
" No, thank you ; I don't 
want it" 

And with a last look, 

charged with agony, cast 

upon his loved one, he threw 

himself into his leaky boat, 

Lint! tiis UUlired sail, filling 

with the rest, bore him away. 

The wind grew every moment 

stronger, and, one by one, 

the boats disappeared into 

the violet mist, their grey 

sails looking to the end like 

the wings of frightened gulls, 

Mathias and Mathurine 

had retired into the cottage of the latter, who 

had prevailed on him to partake of a last 

pitcher of.^derj.ifar^&jtie could think of no 




better artifice for drawing to her house the 
only nephew she could hope to secure in this 
country, so far removed from the shores of 
Pactolus. Moreover, the moment appeared 
to her an excellent one for making a first 
trial. The old sailor had given up the sea ; it 
was the very time for him to take to himself a 
wife. Jeanne was the prettiest girl in Pilhoe] ; 
Mathias was the richest fisherman there. 

These two aristocracies were made for one 
another, evidently. The match-maker, there- 
fore, set about diplomatizing, commencing 
the campaign by a significant enumeration of 
her niece's virtues: she augured well from 
the enthusiasm with which Mathias declared 
thnt she had still fallen short of the truth. 

During this conversation, in which she was 
so much concerned, Jeanne had remained on 
the sea-shore, anxiously, and with moistened 
eyes, peering into the horizon overspread by a 
dark curtain which had, 
at length, veiled the 
whole sky. Suddenly 
this veil was torn by a 
flash of lightning, skim- 
ming the dense green 
surface of the sea afar 
off ; followed by a 
scarcely per cep tilde 
rumble, after a long in- 
terval. The storm was 
yet distant. 

But she already felt 
its commotions, and a 
chill fell on her heart* 
The light had faded out 
of the sky. Heavy drops 
of rain fell upon the 
sands , tinting them grey. 
A fresh zig-zag of fire 
rent the air, reflecting 
itself on the face of the 
deep water, and the 
voice of the thunder 
immediately followed, 

Jeanne uttered a cry 
of agony, 

" We had better go 
and see what it was, 
perhaps/' said Mathias, 
emptying a last glass of 
eider to the health of 

" Nonsense, — stay 
where you are/' said 
Mathurine, restraining 

Like a flight of pigeons 
regaining the dovecote, 

pressing closely one against the other, white, 
and rapidly increasing in size, the sails of 
the fishermen appeared, all low upon the 
water, all flying before and under the stress 
of the tempest A third burst of thunder had 
brought all the women and children in terror 
to the beach. 

In spite of Mathurine, Mathias had hurried 
down to the shore, his rough face expressing 
a strange anxiety. This one and that one 
uttered cries of relief and joy on receiving 
those belonging to them. The wind came in 
aid of the courage of the sailors ; a powerful 
gust threw the whole fleet on to the shore in 

On all sides kisses, embracings, sobs of 
joy, hand-graspings of friends lost and re- 
stored. One sail alone was behind— a rag of 
canvas on a raft, for the gunwale of the boat 
had all been torn away by the waves ; and 


by Google 

Original from 



against it the figure of a young man struggling 
to keep it standing against the fury of the 
wind. Jeanne recognised in him Loehic, 
and, with blanched features and clenched 
hands, felt as if Death had laid his hands 
upon her. 

" He is lost ! " was the cry of all. 

"There is only one man who can save 
him ! " cried a fisherman. 

" Mathias, alone, could make head against 
such a sea ! " cried another. 

Mathias had already stripped off his waist- 
coat and thrown it on the ground. He was 
going to launch his own boat 

" Unhappy man — I forbid you ! " screamed 
Mathurine, clinging to the pilots shirt-sleeve. 

Mathias looked at Jeanne. 

There are moments, solemn, mysterious, 
when language becomes useless, when souls 
understand each other in silence, when hearts 
open themselves, dumb, but readable as 
wide-spread books. The young girl went to 
the pilot and said to him, in a voice so low 
that none but he could hear her : — 

" Save him, and I will be your wife." 

For that look — that one look — had, in an 
instant, revealed to her the pilot's passion. 

With a vigorous movement, Mathias threw 
off Mathurine — so vigorous, indeed, that her 
clutch carried away with it a shred of the 
shirt-sleeve on which it had been fastened — 
and sprang into his boat, already moving out 
through the surf. A turn of the helm — a 
white furrow in the sea — then a cry of agony 
and admiration ! 

The storm raged more furiously than ever. 
The old pilot's boat had reached Loehic's 
shattered vessel in the midst of a cloud of 
spray, which, at moments, hid both from 
view. The mingled forms of two men stood 
out against the grey tumultuous background 
— Mathias holding Loehic, insensible, in his 
stalwart arms. The double shadow stoops — 
the shadow of a single man rises : Mathias 
has laid in the bottom of his own boat the 
body of the man he has saved. Another 
turn of the helm, and in a few seconds the 
rescuer lands the still ' insensible form of 
Loehic on the beach. 

A ringing outburst of hurrahs ! — the horny 
hand of the old pilot passed from lip to 
lip; his name murmured by all mouths in 
benediction. The women on their knees 
put up thanks to the Virgin also. 

Jeanne, pale, motionless as death; Mathias 
turns upon her a look appealing for thanks. 
A pained smile passes to the young girl's lips, 
and Mathurine makes everybody laugh by 
breathlessly bringing to the pilot a glass of 

Digitized by OOOQ I C 

hot sugared wine, which, in spite of all the 
old girl's protestations, he insists on forcing 
between the lips of Loehic, who has not yet 
returned to consciousness. 


At the end of six weeks, Loehic, saved and 
sheltered by Mathias, has slowly recovered 
the reason of which, for awhile; he had been 
bereft by excess of emotion. After many 
days of delirium, during which his life had 
been in suspense, consciousness had returned 
to his mind, but on his heart had fallen the 
shadow of an incurable sadness. 

Mathurine had only permitted Jeanne to 
come and see him once ; and Mathias— 
strange as it seemed — had not sought to 
break through that cruel decree, but appeared 
to be completely in agreement on the subject. 
The reason was that, in his sick dreams, 
poor Loehic had so often repeated the name 
of Jeanne, and with such" despairing tender- 
ness in the tohes of his voice, that the old 
pilot feared he had discovered that love 
existed between them. Jeanne, whom he 
saw every day at her aunt's, appeared, how- 
ever, firmly resolved to keep her promise. 
She had allowed her hand to be officially 
asked of Mathurine, and, without making 
the least objection, proceeded with the 
preparation of her trousseau. 

The young girl listened to the pilot's 
projects of happiness without responding, 
but with a vague smile upon her lips which 
he might take for contentment 

One day she was kneeling in prayer as he 
entered, and, in rising, let a faded flower fall 
from the " Book of Hours." Mathias stooped 
for the purpose of picking it up and returning 
it to her ; but, before he could reach it, she 
had snatched it up and jealously hidden it in 
her bosom. 

The eagerness of her action attracted the 
old sailor's attention. 

" Who gave you that flower ? " he asked, 
uneasily, without knowing why. 

" Loehic gave it to me." 

And, as a look of anguish passed into the 
pilot's eyes, she added : — 

" God does not forbid remembrance." 

Mathias did not insist, but a terrible doubt 
had entered his heart. An hour later, on 
taking his place by the bed of Loehic, now 
convalescent, he said to the young man : — 

" How would you answer me, Loehic, if I, 
who have saved your life, were to ask some- 
thing of you in return ? " 

" I should answer you : ' Mathias, my life 
is yours ; dispose of it as you please.' " 




After an interval of painful silence, and 
with a faltering voice, the pilot, continued ; — 

"It is not much I have to ask of you, lad ; 
give me only the worthless brass ring you 
always wear on your finger," 

Loehic started in his bed and became very 

" That ? Never ! " he cried, an angry light 
flashing from his eyes. 

u It was Jeanne, then, who gave it to you ? !l 
replied Mathia.% his voice choking with pain, 

11 Why do you ask me, since you know? " 
rejoined Loehic, dosing his eyes and over- 
come by this sudden trial of emotion* 

The pilot rose, his eyes full of tears. He 
kissed the forehead of the young man, who 
had fallen suddenly into a kind of sleep. He 
listened, and assured himself that he was 
really sleeping. 

" Forgive me ! " he murmured. 

Then, in a corner of the room, before a 
crucifix, he knelt and besought God to give 
him courage. Calmed, a look of admirable 
resignation on his brow, he put on his heavy 
woollen cap and returned to the house of 
Mathurine, whom he found working with 
feverish ardour at the white bridal dress. 

" Well — will the trousseau be ready soon ? " 
he cried, in a voice which he rendered 
almost rough from trying too much to make 
it gay, 

" You have become very pressing all of a 
sudden, Master Mathias," replied Aunt 
Mathurine, "For when do you want it?" 

Very simply, this time, in the admirable 
tone of sacrifice, the pilot answered, looking 
at Jeanne : — 

"Fur when Loehic is well again." 


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Original from 

From Behind the Speakers Chair. 



THERE was a report current 
court dress, at the beginning of the present 
Parliament that the Speaker, 
commiserating the lot of members who for 
various reasons were not disposed to endow 
themselves with Court dress, proposed to 
give a series of supplementary feasts at which 
ordinary dinner dress would serve. The 
rumour may be dismissed without a moment's 
consideration. The Speaker is not likely, 
voluntarily, to divest himself of one of the 
conditions which temper his official hospitality. 
It suffices to be bound 
to invite in turn 670 
gentlemen to dinner, 
without going out of 
the way to remove a 
possible obstacle to 
the invitation being 
u ni ve rsal ly accept e d * 
Accordingly, this 
Session, as from time 
immemorial, members 
dining with the 
Speaker have 
been required 
to don Court 
dress and carry 
a sword by 
their side, 
when it is not 
between some- 
body else's 

So inexora- 
ble is this law, 
that last Ses- 
sion it operated to the extent of banishing the 
seconder of the Address from the Speaker's 
table. It is the invariable custom that the 
mover and seconder of the Address shall be in- 
vited to the dinner to Her Majesty's Ministers 
with -which the Speaker hospitably opens 
the Session. I^ast year Mr. Fenwick, whose 
honourable boast it is that he commenced 
his career as a working collier, seconded the 
Address. He undertook the duty only upon 
condition that he should not be called upon 
to array himself in military, naval, or Court 
dress, as is the quaint custom of the occasion. 
The point was yielded as far as his appear- 
ance in the House of Commons was con- 
cerned* But the Speaker, tied and bound by 
immemorial custom, did not see his way to 
\ary the usages of the Ministerial dinner. 



Accordingly, whilst the mover of the Address, 
arrayed in the martial costume of a major in 
the Miiitia, dined with the nobility and gentry 
at Speaker's Court, the seconder* clad in sober 
black, humbly ate his chop at home. 

From their earliest departure on the war- 
path the Irish members have made a point of 
standing aloof from the Speaker's dinner 
parties* There is, indeed, a story of the late 
Mr. Joseph Gillis Biggar having been en* 
countered on the top of a Clapham 'bus with 
velvet coat on his back, ruffles at his wrist, 
black stockings coyly hiding his shapely legs^ 
silver buckles on his shoes, and sword in 
dainty scabbard hanging within easy reach of 
% his right hand Questioned as to the occa- 
sion for this disguise, he airily replied : ** V ve 
been dining with Mr, Speaker," This is, 
however, only one of the many myths that 
linger round the memory of honest Joseph 
Gillis. As upon another apocryphal occasion 
it was announced that 4t the Tenth never 
dance/ 1 so it remains true to this day that the 
Irish members never dine — at least t not with 
the Speaker. 

Shortly after Mr, Bright, in 1868, 

MR. joined the Ministry as Presi- 

baight. dent of the Board of Trade, 

the clothes difficulty presented 
itself. His Quaker conscience revolted 
against the necessity of assuming the semi- 
warlike costume which forms the full dress of 
Her Majesty's Ministers. To prance around 
in scarlet coat, with gold lace down his 
trousers and a plumed cocked hat under his 
arm, was a sacrifice that seemed too much, 
even as a preliminary condition of being 
enabled to serve his 
country. But the uni- .*> " . 





Original from 




forrn is imperatively necessary in connection 
with Court duties inseparable from Ministerial 
ofilce. On visits to the Queen, attendance 
at the Prince of Wales's levees, and at the 
Ministerial dinners in Speaker's Court, the 
integrity of the British Constitution demands 
a certain strictly ordered uniform. After 
some protest, Mr, Bright gave in in the 
matters of coat and trousers, even of plumed 
hat. Rut he drew the line at the sword. 
Finally concession was made on this point, he 
alone of all Her Majesty's Ministers appear- 
ing on ceremonial occasions unembarrassed 
by a sword. 

It is said that fewer new members 
have possessed themselves of 
Court dress in the present Parlia- 
ment than in any of its pre- 
decessors of recent times. The 
reason for that lies on the surface. When 
the present Parliament began business, there 
were some authorities who confidently asserted 
that dissolution would fall upon it before it 
had enjoyed its first Easter holiday. When 
nothing happened at Easter, the date of the 
prophecy was shifted to the Committee stage 
of the Home Rule Bill When nothing 
happened then, other occasions, none remote, 
were with equal confidence named, Whether 
immediately, or by - and - by, Parliament 
could not last long, and what was to 
become of the new member, thrown upon 
the country with a brand-new suit of Court 
dress and no certainty of being returned at 
another election ? The situation* it is said, 
appealed with peculiar force to Scottish 
members ; only those with majorities so 
large as to justify expectation of opportunity 
of wearing out their Court dress in a sutv 
sequent Parliament adventuring on the 

One peculiar (lis- 
lords and tinction between 
commons, the Lords and 
Commons is the 
greater jealousy with which 
the latter guard the sanctity 
of their Chamber. Both 
Houses have staffs of mes- 
sengers, chiefly responsible as 
media of communication 
between members and the 
outer world. But whilst mes- 
sengers in the Lords, charged 
with a letter, a card, or a 
Ministerial box, may ap- 
proach the person addressed 
and achieve his errand, a 
messenger in the House of 


Commons may not approach beyond the bar 
at one end, or proceed further than the 
steps of the Speaker's Chair at the other. 
The consequences are inconvenient and 
sometimes ludicrous. What happens is that 
the messenger, standing by the cross benches, 
hands to the nearest member the message or 
card with which he is charged, and it is 
slowly passed along the line till it reaches its 
destination ; each member in turn thinking 
it is meant for him, occasionally an absent- 
minded statesman opening a letter not 
addressed to him. This is a matter in which 
the Lords are certainly more up to date, and 
the Commons might well take a leaf out of 
their ordinarily despised book. 

In another respect, that of 
advancing Bills by stages, the 
House of Lords could, as Sir 
John Astley used to say, give 
the Commons a stone and beat them. To wards 
the end of the Session, when, after sitting for 
months with nothing to do, the Lords find 
themselves overwhelmed with work, the 
rapidity with which legislation is accomplished 
is bewildering to the stranger in the gallery. 

The Clerk, rising from his seat at the end 
of the table, recites the name of a Bill 
The Lord Chancellor, wigged and gowned 
on the Woolsack, says in a breath : "The- 
question -is -that- this -Bill -be -read -a-seeond- 
the-contrary-not -content- 1 -think-the<:ontents~ 
have it" 

The Standing Orders having been sus- 
pended, as is usual at this time of the 
Session, the Lord Chancellor moves half a 
pace to th^ left of the Woolsack, and sits 
down. By what seems a simultaneous motion, 
Lord Morley, Chairman of Committees, taking 
an equal pace in the same 
direction, slips into the chair 
at the head of the table. 
This means that the House 
is in Committee, the Lord 

s;ivs Lord 
his feet. 


nowhere, the 
of Committees 
"Clause One," 
Morley, rising to 
u Question-is-thiit- 
Bill - those - that - are -of-that- 
not -content -I -think -the-con- 
tents - have - it -Clause - two.-" 
and so on to the end of 
the Bill, with the same 
breathless formula and the 
same unhesitating con- 

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Original from 



elusion that ".the contents have it." 
When the preamble is added to the 
Bill, the Chairman puts the question that 
the House do now resume. The hidden 
machinery underneath the floor works again. 
The Lord Chancellor, sliding half a pace to 
the right, is on the Woolsack, once more 
President. The Chairman of Committees, 
simultaneously moving in the same direction, 
is out of the Chair, and, for the nonce, 
is nobody. " The-question-is," says the Lord 
Chancellor, " that-this-Bill-be-now-read-a-third- 
time-those-that-are-of-that-opinion," etc. With 
two able - bodied, active men like Lord 
Herschell and Lord Morley in charge of the 
performance, a Bill can be run through the 
Lords in an incredibly short time. 

In the Commons, the best possible in the 
circumstances is achieved, but the Lords 
have certain natural advantages that make 
them the Eclipse of this kind of racing. In 
the first place, the suspension of the Standing 
Orders, so that successive stages of a Bill may 
be taken right off* a matter of course in the 
Lords, is a serious business in the Commons. 
The objection of a single member would be 
effectual in stopping the onward course, and 
such objection is withheld only on the rarest 
occasions. Then there are physical conditions. 
The Speaker of the House of Commons, unlike 
the Lord Chancellor, is not seated on the level 
of the floor. He is raised on a pedestal, and 
when he leaves the Chair on the House going 
into Committee, must needs descend the 
steps and withdraw behind the Chair. How- 
ever urgent the need of haste, it cannot be 
expected that the Speaker, in wig and gown, 
should skip down the steps like a young 
maiden going to the fair. If he did, he 
might come in contact with Mr. Mellor, 
stepping forward to occupy the Chair of 
Committees, which is close by the foot 
of the Speaker's Chair. In the Lords 
there is a wide space between the table and 
the Woolsack, which makes easy the simul- 
taneous moving of Lord Chancellor and 
Chairman of Committees. 

People who talk glibly of the immediate 
abolition of the. House of Ix>rds should think 
over these things. 

It is curious to find so old a 

written Parliamentary hand as Sir William 

speeches., Harcourt going back to the use 

of manuscript when delivering 
his speeches. He has been in the House of 
Commons for a practically uninterrupted 
period exceeding a quarter of a century, and 
has taken a prominent part in current debates. 
Before he entered he had established a 

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lucrative practice at the Parliamentary Bar. 
In conversation he is one of the wittiest of 
men ; in debate one of the quickest Yet, 
in these latter days, he invariably prepares his 
speech verbatim in manuscript, and reads it 
from first page to last. He does it exceedingly 
well, his delivery lacking little in animation. 
But the wonder remains that he should do it 
at all. The practice is reasonable in deliver- 
ing his financial statement as Chancellor of 
the Exchequer. Even Mr. Gladstone, on such 
occasions, condescended to pretty voluminous 
notes. But Sir William Harcourt extends 
the practice in various directions, any speech 
of more than average importance being read 
from manuscript. 

This is doubtless due to sense of responsi- 
bility with his still new position as Leader 
of the House of Commons. The custom 
certainly dates from his assumption of that 
office. That it is not necessitated by failing 
aptitude was repeatedly shown in debate in 
Committee on his great Budget scheme. 
He was then constantly on guard, occasionally 
delivering as many as a score of speeches in 
a single sitting. There was then displayed 
no lack of well-ordered information or of 
apt phrases. On the contrary, these impromptu 
addresses were more immediately effective 
than the carefully prepared orations. It was 
the old Parliamentary gladiator at his best. 
To see him with written copy of his speech 
before him is like watching an accomplished 
swimmer going back to the use of corks. 

Another Parliamentary debater 
of the first rank who went back 
to the use of manuscript was 
Lord Randolph Churchill The 
last speech delivered by him in the House 
of Commons before his departure on 
his sadly interrupted journey round the 
world was written out verbatim, and read 
to the House. He always carefully pre- 
pared his speeches in his study, and in his 
palmiest days never rose in ordered debate 
without a sheaf of notes. But they were 
merely catch notes, from the line of which 
he was, upon interruption, ever ready to make 
brilliant divagation. With his later manner his 
speech suffered much in the delivery, Lord 
Randolph, with head bent over his manu- 
script, not being audible on the back benches. 
Mr. James Bryce, who sat attentive on 
the Treasury Bench immediately opposite, 
and heard every word of it, told me it was 
a remarkably cogent argument, admirably 
phrased and illumined by happy illustration, 
falling, in these respects, nothing short of 
Lord Randolph's earlier successes. 










Of all Parliamentary debaters of 
the day, whether in Lords or 
Commons, there is no man less 
dependent upon notes than is the 
Marquis of Salisbury. As in important 
debates in the present Parliament he usually 
speaks towards the close of a sitting, in antici- 
pation of the Premier winding up a debate, 
he has no opportunity for preparation, 
Certainly there is no smell of the lamp 
about his discourses. He does not even, 
as others do, make a note of thoughts or of 
criticism that nrcurs to him whilst listening. 
When his turn comes he presents himself at 
the table and, leaning one hand upon it, pro- 
ceeds with unfaltering flow of perfectly turned 
phrases, most of them carrying barbed points. 
A sonorous voice and unhurried delivery are 
details which complete the intellectual treat 
of hearing [Ix)rd Salisbury drink delight of 
battle with his peers, 

Mr. Arthur Balfour shares in 
degree his uncles freedom from mm % 
the trammels of manuscript notes* 
He is not entirely without their 
assistance, but they are 
merest skeletons, and 
obviously do not con- 
fine the range of his 
speech. Such as they 
are, they are invariably 
written on his knee 
in the House of 
Commons. As far as 
may be observed by 

an outsider, it is not his. habit to prepare 
in his study his impromptus, or even the 
salient points of his argument The most 
difficult task that can fall to the lot of a Leader 
on either side of the House of Commons is 
to make those set orations, whether over the 
tomb or the altar, for which necessity from 
time to time arises. Mr. Gladstone* is, by 
common consent, the only man of the age 
who could rise to either occasion* Mr. 
Disraeli, when occupying in 1852 the position 
now filled by Sir William Harcourt, being 



called upon to pronounce a eulogy on the 
Duke of Wellington, who had just answered to 
his name in the final roll-call, borrowed his 
best passage from a lament declaimed by 
M. Thiers over the tomb of Marshal Gouvion 
de St. Cyr. This second - rate French 
Marshal, dead more 
than twenty years, was 
forgotten. But Thiers' 
flash of eloquence was 
remembered by others 
than Mr. Disraeli. 

Mr* Chamberlain 
made the most memor- 
able, if not the only, 
failure of his Parlia- 
mentary addresses 
when he joined in the 
funeral orations in the 
House of Commons 
on the death of Mr. 
Bright. Sir William 
Harcourt is prone on 
such occasions to 
assume a lugubrious 
manner that fatally 
depresses the spirits 
of his audience. The 

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Original from 



last time Mr. Balfour, in his capacity as 
Leader of the Opposition, took part in such 
ceremonial proceedings was when the House 
of Commons passed a resolution of con- 
dolence with France upon the murder of 
President Carnot. Sir William Harcourt, 
who moved the resolution, read a funeral 
sermon from manuscript he took out of his 
breast coat pocket, whilst his voice rose and 
fell in melancholy cadence. Mr. Balfour, 
taking a sheet of notepaper from the table, 
wrote down the outline of what proved to be 
a short but almost perfect speech, taking as 
his text successive points in Sir William 
Harcourt's monody, and giving them fresh 

One result of the sub-division of 
hopelessly parties in the House of Commons 

mixed, following on the disruption in 
the Liberal ranks has an im- 
portant effect upon the vitality of debate. 
Up to the year 1886 the House of Commons 
was broadly divided between two parties. 
There were, of course, the Home Rulers — 
the tiers parti, as Mr. O'Donnell called them, 
a suggestion that naturally led on to the 
nomenclature of the Fourth Party. But 
their position did not vary the rule. When 
they were on the war-path, there were still, 
at that time, only two parties in the House — 
the Irish members and the rest. 

In such circumstances a member faced his 
opponents, the Irish members with the 
addition of having some of them also on 
their right flank. When spoken sentiments 
were approved, they were hailed with a hearty 
cheer running continuously along the benches 
on one side. Where they were objected to, 
the shouts of disapproval came all from the 
same quarter of the encampment. To-day, 
with the little party under Mr. Chamberlain's 
command wedged into the very centre of 
the Liberal forces, things have grown so 
hopelessly mixed, that the old significance 
of cheering and counter -cheering is lost. 
When a member hears Mr. Chamberlain, 
jrising from the Liberal benches, lustily 
cheered by the Conservatives, and when later 
the thin black line on the third bench below 
the gangway on the Liberal side hail with 
cheers the appearance at the table of Mr. 
Balfour or Mr. Goschen, the old member, 
accustomed to other times and manners, 
"dunno where 'e are." The situation is 
further complicated by the Irish members 
sitting aligned with the English country gen- 
tlemen, cheering when they sit silent, and 
derisively howling when they cheer. 

Another consequence of this uncanny state 

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of things is that the give-and-take of debate, 
which obtains in all well-ordered assemblies, 
has now become impossible in the House of 
Commons. It has ever been the custom of 
the Speaker to call alternately upon members 
composing the Ministerialists and the Oppo- 
sition. Now there are the Liberal Unionists 
to be counted with, and if the topic be, as 
it sometimes is, an Irish question, there 
are the Leaders of the Nationalist Party and 
the Parnellites, who claim severally to be 
heard. The inevitable consequence is that 
at critical stages of set debates the House 
has a speech from a Minister, who is followed 
by Mr. Balfour, to whom succeeds Mr. 
Chamberlain. Or, vice-vtrsd, the two allies, 
separated only by the floor of the House, 
say the same thing over in different ways. 
Then, if Mr. Sexton or Mr. McCarthy speaks, 
Mr. John Redmond must needs deliver an 
address of equal length. The same thing 
happens on lower grades, the rank and file 
of factions of party getting bewilderingly 

In the House of Lords this lack 
in the of symmetry in the order of 
lords, debate is even more marked, 
and from the constitution of 
parties is inevitable. There really are not 
enough of Liberal peers to go round in 
one of the set debates to which the Lords 
occasionally treat themselves. As Lord 
Rosebery, in his famous speech at Brad- 
ford, complained, peers of Liberal per- 
suasion are not more in number than 
5 per cent, of the House of Lords. It 
naturally follows that the preponderance of 
debating force is on one side. To mention 
three names indicative of various hostile 
attitudes towards Liberalism, there are Lord 
Salisbury, the Duke of Devonshire, and the 
Duke of Argyll, who may, and sometimes do, 
follow each other in close succession. When 
Lord Rosebery, Lord Herschell, Lord Spencer, 
the Marquis of Ripon, and Lord Russell of 
Killowen have spoken, the forces of debate 
on the Liberal side begin to be exhausted ; 
whilst in the Conservative camp there are 
many other peers beside the Duke of Devon- 
shire and the Duke of Argyll who, having 
learned fencing in the Liberal school, are 
now ready to turn unbuttoned foils on what 
are left of their former comrades. Regarded 
as a debating assembly, this condition of 
affairs is a distinct disadvantage to the House 
of Lords, which, paradoxical as the statement 
may appear, would find its majority in a far 
more powerful position if it were numerically 
less strong. 

Original from 





Old members of the House of 
Commons withdrawn from Par- 
liamentary life discover on re- 
visiting the familiar scene how 
jealously guarded are the privileges of sitting 
members. The House of Commons, if no 
longer the best club in the world, is certainly 
the most exclusive. All its approaches are 
guarded with almost hectic jealousy. It is 
easier for a camel to pass through the eye of 
a needle than for an unauthorized stranger to 
enter even the lobby of the House, These 
are regulations which, though they may seem 
harsh in personal experience, are absolutely 
necessary for the conduct of business. Human 
interest in the House of Commons is so 
burning in its intensity, that if approach were 
easy the building would be swamped by the 
idly curious, As it is, strangers unprovided 
with orders of admission are kept at arms' 
length with as much severity as if they were 
infected with leprosy. 

Ex-members find these restrictions par- 
ticularly obnoxious. Looking in upon a 
place of which they were at one time 
privileged and perchance honoured occupants, 
they find their footsteps politely but firmly 
dogged by the perfection of police on duty 
at Westminster Palace, Ordinary strangers 
may not approach the House of Commons 
as far as the inner lobby without special 
permission. Ex-members may go so far but no 
farther, unless they areaeeornpanied by a sitting 
member, They may not enter the corridor 
leading to the dining-room, library^ or terrace, 
nor may they pass in ur out by the once 
familiar staircase leading down to the cloak- 
room. As for finding a place in or under the 
strangers' galleries, they are on the footing 
of the obscurest stranger, and must obtain an 
order from the Speaker or the Serjeant-at- 
Arms, These restrictions are, perhaps, 
necessary. But they are none the less irk- 
some to men who for years have had the run 
of the House. 

The House of Lords makes a difference 
in this respect in the case of Privy Councillors. 
A right hon, gentleman of whatever distinc- 
tion who has been a member of the House 
of Commons may not, after withdrawing 
from Parliamentary life, approach beyond 
the inner lobby of his old quarters. But 
he has always the right of entry to the 
House of Lords, and may take his place 
behind the rails skirting the Throne, shoulder 
to shoulder with such of Her Majesty's 
Ministers and members of the Opposition 
from the House of Commons as are also 
Privy Councillors. 

The House of Commons is, 

blocking probably, the best place in the 

hats, world in which to make a joke, 

however poor. It is so pro- 
foundly bored with much talking that it 
clutches with feverish haste at anything that 
will permit it to laugh. An impassioned 
orator who concludes his speech by sitting on 
his hat is regarded as a benefactor of his 
species. Another, who with sweep of his 
right hand knocks over a glass of water; 
instantly become a popular personage. To 
this day tender memories linger round a 
genial Q.C., long severed from Parliamentary 
life, who once in the course of a single speech 
twice knocked off the same member's hat. 
Of all men in the House, the sufferer was Mr. 
Campbell - Bannerman, a circumstance that 
added greatly to the subtle enjoyment of the 
scene. It was in the Parliament of 1880, and 
the question of the hour related to Mr 
Bradlaugh's status. "It is essential," said 
the hon, and learned gentleman, '* that this 
question should be treated in a calm and 
judicial manner," Instinctively sweeping out 
his right hand, by way of illustrating the idea 
of breadth of view, the learned Q.C. smote the 
crown of the hat of Mr. Campbell-Bannerman, 
who sat on the Treasury Bench below him. 

The future Secretary for War, at that 
time Financial Secretary^ is a man of daunt- 
less courage and imperturbable humour. To 
a senator sitting with arms folded, head benr 
dow r n, and mind intent on following the 
argument of an esteemed friend behind, 
nothing is more disconcerting than to have 
his hat suddenly swept off his head. Mr. 
Campbell-Bannerman was equal to the 
occasion* The House tittered with laughter, 

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"equal to thk occasion," 

Original from 



He picked up his hat 3s if that were 
his ordinary way of having it taken off, 
replaced it on his head, and returned to the 
consideration of the points of the argument 
he had been considering. Ten minutes later^ 
another wave of emotion overcoming the 
orator, the hat of the Financial Secretary to 
the War Office was once more trundling 
aJong the floor. Then, it is true, Mr. 
Campbell-Bannerman cautiously moved along 
the bench out of range of fire, whilst the 
House gave itself up to uncontrolled laughter 

In more recent 
times, Mr. Wil- 
liam O'Brien has 
driven home his 
argument by 
bringing down a 
clenched fist on 


the top of the hat of an hon + member sitting im- 
mediately below him. But the record in which 
the present Secretary of State for War pas- 
sively assisted remains unbroken. 

A less vigorous form 

lapsus of humour in which 

LINGUA, the House delights 

is a slip of the tongue 
on the part of a member. The 
more matter-of-fact he be, the 
fuller is the enjoyment, I -ast 
Session Mr, Arthur Balfour fell 
upon a phrase, the possible 
double meaning of 
which delighted the 
House. In the course 
of debate on the affairs 

of Matabeleland, the Leader of the Opposi- 
tion emphatically declared that what was 
Reeded for the welfare and prosperity of 
South Africa was "the extension of roads." 
As the name of Mr. Cecil Rhodes had been 
prominently mentioned throughout the 
debate, not without unfriendly hints that 
self-aggrandizement was the base of his 
policy, Mr. Balfour was interrupted by a 
burst of boisterous laughter, at which he 
affected innocent amazement, and repeated 
the phrase again and again, till the House 
permitted him to conclude the passage. 

There was much controversy at the time 
as to whether he had perceived the douhk 
entendre^ or whether in persisting in reitera- 
tion of his phrase he was unconscious of its 
possible application. Talking the matter 
over later on the same night, he told me 
that he recognised the slip as soon as the 
phrase had escaped his lips. But he was not 
going to give himself away by accepting the 
construction humorously put upon it. To 
those who were present and remember his 
appearance of genuine astonishment at the 
interruption, this will show that an old Parlia- 
mentary hand may still be young in years, 
and ingenuous in manner. 

Incomparably the best mixed 

saying of this kind ever uttered in 

the House of Commons dropped 

from the lips of Mr, Cobden, It 

was told me by one of the few members of 

the present House who heard the debates on 

the Commercial Treaty with France* 

" Now I will give you an illustration of 
what I mean/ 1 said Mr, Cob- 
den, reaching a certain point in 
his exposition, " My hon* friend 
who sits near me " (indicating 
Mr. Bright) " spins long yarns of 
poor quality." 

Mr, Cobden got no further 
with the sentence, the remainder 
being lost amid inextinguishable 
laughter. Only Mr. Bright, then 
in the prime of his powers, a 
frequent and voluminous contri- 
butor to Parliamentary debate, 
did not see the joke. 



the extension of khoijes. 

Original from 

Some Shapes of Heads. 

By J, E. Barnard. 

HE study of the external form 
of the head has at various 
times admitted of much con- 
troversy and 
specu lation. 
The "bumps" 
or superficial prominences, so 
readily felt on carrying the 
hand over the head, afford 
phrenologists a large field for 
the imagination ; and some 
scientific men ha% r e adopted a 
method of surface measure- 
ment for the purpose of study- 
ing racial peculiarities and 

During the past few years 
a large number of heads, 
amounting to several thou- 
sands, have been measured 
under my supervision. It 
has, therefore, occurred to 
me that a brief account of 
some of the more striking 
shapes might be of interest 
to the general reader. 

For this purpose a selection has been made, 
embodying those which are chiefly interesting 
for their irregularity and asymmetry of out- 
line, or because they point out certain racial 
or individual fea- 
tures. The most 
casual observer 
cannot help being 
struck with the 
great variation in 
all directions of 
the examples here 
figured- There is 
often an almost 
total absence of 
symmetry, and the 
size varies within 
wide limits. A fre- 
quent observation 
of those to whom 
such shapes are 
shown is : "How 
like a foot ! n and, 
indeed, the excla- 
mation in many 

cases is fully justified. The size is in every 
case considerably reduced, the scale being 
approximately a reduction of 5 diameters. 
The figures have been taken 
from men alone, the shape of 
the female head being difficult 
to gauge accurately owing to 
ths arrangement of the hair. 

That there are certain shapes 
of head peculiar to different 
peoples there is no question, 
and this is often so marked, 
that the shape may form a 
fairly reliable guide to the 
determination of a person's 
nationality, or, at any rate, that 
of his antecedents, 

Taking, for instance, an 
ideal head, as tig. 1, one 
notices that it is rather long. 
Its length should exceed its 
breadth by \%\r\* An English 
head, as Fig, 2, is generally 
slightly longer than this, 
broader at the back, and 
tapering rather towards the 
forehead. The English of to-day are some- 
what mixed in their antecedents, and cannot 
therefore claim to have such a characteristic 
head as the Highlander or Irishman. 

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Original from 


2 73 

The Fin 6, 7, 8, and 9 are all Scotch 
heads, and have not been selected because 
of any peculiarity, but are, in all cases, typical. 
It will be seen that they taper very much 
towards the Front, narrowing at the temples, 
and very often becoming square and 
prominent at the forehead. A Highlander 
is, in fact* a u long-headed " man, not only 

chosen, one is that 
of a noted, and 
highly intellectual, 
Irish Parliamen- 
tary leader, and the 
other is the head 
of a nonentity. 

The Welsh and 
Cornish head 
differs considera- 
bly from either of 
the types so far 
noticed, as Figs. 
19 and 20 show* 
It partakes more 
of the shape cha- 
racteristic of the 
Frenchman or 
Spaniard. Doubt- 
less, in the west 
of Cornwall there is a slight trace of 
Spanish blood, which is possibly due to a 
few who escaped from the Spanish Armada 
settling there. At the Lizard, for instance, 
the name of Jose is common or even 
predominant. This is no doubt a corruption 
of the Spanish name Jos& In the case of 
Cornwall, however, the trade carried on for 

proverbially , but in reality, Figs. 3 and 5 

are also long, but are abnormal specimens of 

English heads. 

An Irishman, also, has a long head, as Figs. 

to T ii, and 13 show, but it is not so narrow 

in comj>arison with the length as a Scotch 

head. It does not contract so much at the 

temples, and is squares Of the examples 
Vol, i K .— as. 


centuries, even before the time of Christ, 
with Brittany, Spain, and other countries, 
might account more satisfactorily for the 
apparent admixture of foreign blood. The 
relation of the shape of the head to 
nationality might broadly be associated 
with climate, for one finds that, the further 
south the examples are taken from, the 

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rounder do heads become, and a north 
country head is proportionately longer. This 
applies to other countries than our own, 

Fig, 15 shows a Frenchman's head, which 
is much rounder than an Englishman's* Fig. 
13, German, is rounder still, and broadens 

is that it is a result of the habitual use of 
the right hand. Recent investigations into 
the functions of the brain have shown 
that the several members of the body are 
what is known as "represented" on its sur- 
face. For example, the impulse to move the 

very much at the back, although Fig. 14 is 
a most unusual exception- Fig. 1 7 is Dutch, 
the peculiarity being a smaller head, but 
still much the type of the German- Fig. 16 
is a Spanish and Fig. 18 is an Italian head. 
A negro's head is rounder still: in fact, 
almost bullet shape. 

The illustrations are not only remark- 
able for their general shape or outline, but 
an even more extraordinary feature is the 
great want of symmetry before mentioned. 
The line dividing each shape is taken from 
the top of the nose 
to where the spinal 
column meets the head 
at the back, therefore 
dividing the head into 
two lateral parts, In 
Figs. 2, 4, 30, and 3 1 
this inequality is so 
marked that it almost 
amounts to a deformity. 
Curiously enough, the 
larger portion is almost 
invariably on the left 
side, the cases where 
the opposite occurs 
being rare. Many 
theories have been ad- 
vanced to account for 
this> but probably the 
most satisfactory one 

right arm comes from a special part of the 
surface of the left side of the brain. In 
right-handed persons, the centres subserving 
the faculty of speech iare located on the left 
side of the brain, whie there is evidence to 
show that in left-handed persons these 
centres are more probably situated on the 
right side. It is not by any means im- 
probable that as we have through countless 
generations been in the habit of using 
our right hand and arm, and leaving the 
left hand uneducated, it has at length 

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Original from 



resulted in the brain on the left side becom- 
ing enlarged 

It might be suggested that, such being 
the case, a left-handed person should have 
an enlarged right side of the head, and 
in some instances this was found to be 
the case. Fig, 21, for instance } is a case in 
which the left hand was thoroughly developed, 
and performed all required of it in the same 

existence they would in 
a few generations have 
an enlargement on the 
right side as character- 
istic as right - handed 
persons now have on 
the left side of the 
head. Such a marked 
inequality, as just de- 
scribed, might be made 
a subject of much 
theory ; but as the 
object of this paper is 
chiefly to state facts, 
we do not propose 
entering into contro- 
versial matter. 

In the cases under 
our notice, it has most 
frequently happened 
that a person of more 
than average intelligence has a head above 
the average size. This is not by any means 
without exception, as, for instance, Fig. 24, 
which is the head of a well-known surgeon, 
and is one of the smallest we have noticed. 
On the other hand, the very large one, Fig, 
j2j is the head of an insane person ; a not 
uncommon accompaniment of lunacy or 
idiotcy being an abnormally large head* 

way as most right hands do. The result is 
seen in a marked development of the right 
side of the head. It might happen that the 
heads of left-handed persons would not in- 
variably show this, but it is not improbable 
that if a race of left-handed people came into 

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It very often happens that a large-headed 
father has a small-headed son, the converse 
rarely occurring. In Figs, 22 and 25, the 
larger is the father's and the smaller the son's 
head, but this case presents a peculiarity in that 
the shapes are so entirely different. It generally 




happens that even if the head is smaller, the 
shapes resemble each other, as, for instance, 
in Figs* 26, 27, 28, and z% which are those of 
four brothers^ the same general outline pre- 
vailing in each, although there is a wide 

difference in age 
between the young- 
est and the eldest. 
Fig. 26 varies rather 
from the others, 
and the tempera- 
ment of the owner 
of this head is 
different in many 
ways. Fig. 2$, again, 
represents an abnor- 
mal head in a large 
family, all the rest of 
which are peculiarly 

The size of the 
head seems to bear 
little relation to the 
size of the body, A 
very big man often 
has a small head, 
or, at any rate, one of average size ; on the 
other hand, a small man may have a large 
head — in fact, we have been unable to trace 
any relationship between size of head and 

Note. — The illustrations are so placed that the forehead is towards the top of the page, 

by Google 

Original from 



'Ml J' l I 

The Story op a Girl's Adventure Underground. 
By Mrs. St, Ix)e Strachey. 

MUST begin all over again 
the weary, hea rebreaking search 
for work — the repeated failures, 
the weariness, the sickness of 
hope deferred — all this must 
be gone through again again ! 
And how many times more ? No employment 
of mine seemed to last long : always a new 
struggle to obtain my daily bread lay darken- 
ing before me. Truly, an evil star had 
gleamed on the horizon on the night of tny 
birth, for to my lot it had fallen to carry 
Adam's burden though I lay under the curse 
of Eve. 

But misfortune must be faced, some work 
must be found. I must live, and my store 
of money in hand was dwindling in a terribly 
rapid manner; it was time to make a 
desperate effort for employment. But the 
month was unfavourable. At the beginning 

by CiC 


of August work, at any rate in London, is 
scarce. Perhaps I might get an engagement 
as a holiday governess to little children , to 
tide ovjr the time till people came back to 
town. I looked over the advertisements in 
the penny morning papers, but could find 
nothing which even promised well One 
afternoon, however, I obtained the loan of 
the Titties^ and in it I found the following 
advertisement : — 

TIT AN TED. — Culture*! lndy {under 30 preferred) 
\V to Lake charge of valuable domestic pet during 
owner's absence in country. Careiakcr left in house. 
Lilseral honorarium. Apply la-day (Friday) lo Mine, 

Ix*hmn, ■ 

And here followed the address of a house in 
one of the old-fashioned squares in the north 
of London- It was getting late in the day, but 
in spite of that 1 thought it would be worth 
while to make an effort to obtain the place. An 
omnibus landed me within about ten minutes' 

Original from 



walk of the square. As I passed through 
the streets the wind was blowing gustily, 
and from the square gardens a few slightly 
turned leaves fluttered to the ground 
Autumn was beginning her harvest early. The 
houses in the square I was seeking were tall 
and thin, and over the doors and windows 
skeleton rams' heads and delicate mouldings 
of flowers told 
of the Adams 
within, But the 
exterior of the 
house which I 
was seeking was 
at first sight 
plain — then I 
saw that the 
handles of the 
hells were of 
heads, and each 
knocker a 
bronze cat's 
head. At my 
ring the double 
door split in the 
middle, and an 
old man-servant 
asked me my 
business, and 
on hearing it 
admitted me 
without a mo- 
ment's hesita- 
tion — admitted 
me apparently 
into the halls of 
Memphis, for 
the doorway 
leading into the 
inner hall had 
heen converted 
into an archway, 
over which an 
unknown hiero- 
glyphic inscrip- 
tion was painted. 
A bronze sphinx stood sentinel 011 either 
side of the great chimney-piece, and the 
walls were covered with paintings such as 
are found in Egyptian tombs. As I followed 
my guide up the dark staircase, a dim, oblong 
form showed from the corner of the broad 
landing — a shape broad at the top and 
narrowing to the feet, Memtnto mori* 

But all was changed when the wide door 
of the drawing-room was thrown open. Here 
was France. France of the beginning of the 


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century was seen in the deep crimson satin 
hangings ; France of to-day in the small wood 
fire which smouldered on the hearth — for the 
evening was chill— in the varnished boards, 
and in the very places of the furniture. This I 
learnt afterwards- At the moment my atten- 
tion was fixed and held by a figure standing 
in the middle of the room. The figure was 

small, slight, 
and fragile, 
draped in long 
grey folds and 
crowned by a 
bushy mass of 
grey hair. Its 
arm was out- 
stretched, and 
on the wrist sat 
perched an old, 
old parrot, al- 
most featheriess, 
with a look of 
s uper human 
cunning and 
malice in its 
eyes. This old 
bird and its 
older mistress 
were apparently 
holding an 
actual conver- 
sation. They 
seemed to un- 
derstand each 
other perfectly. 
For a moment I 
stood transfixed, 
then the voice 
of the man- 
servant broke 
the spell : — 

"A lady, 
mad a me, has 
called, in answer 
to your adver- 
tise nient," 

" Ah! I have 
already seen so 
many, 1 ' and the grey figure, speaking with a 
strong foreign accent, came floating quickly 
towards me ; " but perhaps this time better 
luck, IHms— but I think this is more hopeful. 
Eh, Gustave? Come, mademoiselle, and give 
yourself the trouble to be seated ; you are, 
no doubt, fatigued," And with her left hand 
— her right was still occupied with the 
parrot — she led me to a comfortable chair by 
the fire + 

" I called, madame," I began, when seated, 

Original from 



"in answer to your advertisement which I 
saw in the Times this morning." 

"Ah! ma fot] yes. That announcement — 
what trouble it has given me. You cannot 
figure to yourself the persons I have seen 
to-day who all declared themselves ' ladies of 
cultivation.' But for you, mademoiselle, it 
is a different thing. I could not leave you 
alone in this great house ; you are too young, 
too pretty. It would — how shall I say it ? — 
it would walk out of the conveniences." 

" I implore you, madame, not to let con- 
siderations like these influence you. I am 
entirely dependent on my work, and there is 
so little work I can do," and as I thought of 
tins qruel disappointment^ I had had in the 
last fortnight, my voice broke. 

" Ah, pauvrt enfant, we shall see. The 
case is this. My doctors tell me I must 
positively have a change of air. My parrot, 
Gustave, like other old people — for he is 
older still than I — cannot bear to be 
deranged in his habits : he is miserable if he 
quits this house. Que /aire f Accustomed 
as he is to my society and conversation, I 
cannot leave him to servants : he would expire 
of dulness. So I thought if I could get some 
lady to see to him, to talk to him during my 
two months' absence " 

"Ah, madame," I interrupted, "if you 
would only try me, I would take such care of 

" We shall see," again said Mme. Lebrun. 
"Gustave, mon ami, dost thou think thou 
couldst stay with mademoiselle ? Dost thou 
like her ? " 

At this appeal Gustave with great solemnity 
fluttered to the floor, and, to my alarm, began 
solemnly hopping round me in ever-lessening 
circles. At last he stopped in front of me, 
and, looking straight up into my face, emitted 
a sound like drawing a cork and screamed 
out in a high, fast, monotonous shriek : 
" Pretty girl, pretty girl, don't cry, my dear ; 
don't like being kissed ? That's what pretty 
girls are made for. Ha ! ha ! ha ! " and 
he exploded into a fit of cackling, gasping 

But Mme. Lebrun was apparently quite 
satisfied, and then and there we settled our 
business arrangements, salary, which was 
indeed liberal, included. I was to take 
possession that day week. As I rose to go, 
Mme. Lebrun said : — 

"Two last injunctions I must give you. 
You wilL not,, will you, leave Gustave for 
more than two hours at a time? And you 
must not permit him to go into the. cellars. 
Yes, thou old rascal, I speak of thy sins. 

by Google 

Into the cellars, by hook or by crook, thou 
lovest to go. And they are cold, and thou 
coughest when thou comest out Made- 
moiselle, he is a curious bird. He belonged, 
as did this house, to M. Beckford." 

" The great Beckford, the author of 
1 Vathek ' ? " I cried, much excited, thinking 
this explained the general curious aspect of 
the place. 

" Ah, you have heard of him. Yes, to 
him. My mother rented the house from 
him. This is her portrait," and she pointed 
to a large portrait on the wall of an extremely 
pretty woman in Empire dress, with an ex- 
pression, half arch, half wistful, in her dark 
eyes. " This room she furnished in her own 
taste — here probably you will like to sit — it 
is less triste than the other apartments." 

I thanked her heartily, for, indeed, I had no 
notion of living in an Egyptian museum, and 
took my leave. A week after found me 
comfortably established in the house, in the 
care of the old man-servant and his wife, who 
I found was a super-excellent cook. Gustave 
stayed with me night and day. He was 
generally drowsy in the morning, but was 
painfully restless and wide-awake at night. 
He had a habit of waking me by making a 
sound as of a violent slap being given to a 
thigh tightly breeched in satin, after which 
he would cry : " Doose take it, did yer ? " 

But it was a pleasant time, filled with 
dreams of the curious people and things 
that the house had seen. It was not fated to 

One day the man-servant asked me if he 
and his wife might go that evening to some 
family gathering and festivity to which they 
were bidden. Pleased to do a little kindness 
to people who were so attentive to me, I gladly 
consented. My usual dinner was converted 
into a tempting cold supper, which was 
spread ready for me. At six o'clock they 
left me. I was absorbed in a book, and 
hardly noticed what happened till the clock 
on the mantelpiece chimed seven. It was 
growing dusk. I was hungry, I would take my 

" Gustave," I called. No answer. No 
impatient flutter such as usually greeted a sum- 
mons to eat, for Gustave took his meals with 
his family. I searched in vain for him. Then 
conviction flashed across me. He had run 
away into the cellars. There was nothing to 
be done but to go after him. I took a 
candle and a box of matches and started on 
my quest, down, down, through the hall, the 
kitchen, till I reached the great, vaulted 
cellars. I went through them, guided by the 


2 SO 


sound of Gustave chattering and swearing 

At last, in the furthest vault of all T I 
found him + He was hopping excitedly 
round and round in a circle in the middle 
of the floor. With voice and hand I tried 
to soothe him, but he eluded me. At last 
I tried to catch him by force. Suddenly, as I 
sprang after him, 1 felt the paved floor beneath 
my feet tremble. The stone on which I stood 
was giving — turning. I sprang off it, un- 


consciously giving it a further impetus as 
I did so. It turned half round, leaving a 
black vault at my feet, up which an icy wind 
blew suddenly and extinguished my light 
With trembling hands I tried to strike a 
match, hearing in the darkness a scream of 
triumph from Gustave; then he suddenly let 
fail a volley of strange oaths, and it struck 
me with dismay that his voice was sounding 

At last I lighted my candle, and, shading 
the flame with my hand from the draught, 
I looked into the blackness at mv feet, I 

by Google 

saw a flight of worn steps winding down- 
wards, and from below sounded the hoarse 
laugh of Gustave. 

I followed him; I allowed myself no pause, 
no moment of hesitation, but passed rapidly 
down the narrow winding stain At last I 
reached the bottom. Before me was an arch- 
way, still hung with dusty, tattered fragments 
of w r hat had once been heavy portieres. 
Round the arch I could distinguish an 
inscription in high, blood ■ red letters. 
Slowly I deciphered it: "Fait 
a que voudras" I shud- 
dered ! Dim memories of 
Medenharn Abbey surged in my 
mind, and of that unholy revel 
when the blasphemous revellers 
found suddenly that one had 
been added to their number, and 
yet no man could tell which was 
the uninvited guest 

I pushed on and stood at 
last in a vast, vaulted hall. By 
my dim light, I saw a great 
table, where lay musty remnants 
of a long dead orgie, Masks 
and tattered, mouldy dominoes 
were scattered about in wild 
prolusion — chairs overset and 
pushed back. Apparently, a 
sudden interruption had broken 
up the feast 

Then a ghastly imitation of a 
human voice struck my ear. It 
was Gustave* He had perched on 
the arm of the great chair at the 
top of the table, and was scream- 
ing out with horrible articu- 
lateness an old-world drinking 
song : — 
To kiss with the maid when the mis- 

Iress is kind, 
Believe me, yi>u always are loth, sit ; 
But if I he maid's fairest, the oath 

doesn't bind, 
Or- -you may, if you like it, kiss both, 

This, then, was the meaning of his wish to 
constantly roam about the cellars. He had en- 
joyed many a revel in this horrible hall, and he 
could not believe that the good old time 
was dead for ever. But the spark of energy 
soon died in him, and he sat perched there 
stupidly, with his eyes glazed and dim. I looked 
round the hall, and found that there were other 
openings besides the one I had come through 
leading out of it ; how was I to know my 
own ? Suddenly the sound of footsteps and 
hoarse voices approaching struck my ears. 
Who was coming, and on what dark errand, 

Original from 




to, that dreadful place ? Nearer and nearer 
came the sounds. I seized one oF the 
mouldy dominoes which were scattered about, 
wrapped it round me, concealed Gustave 
in it under my arm, blew out my light, and 
crept beneath the great table just in time. 
The light of many burning torches filled the 
hall, and a rough voice cried : — 
. " Aye, here the place is, just as Cartwright 
thought. There's room enough for stuff here 
to blow up all London, The chief will be 
pleased at this." 

And then to my horrified ears was revealed 
a plot } sheltered under the sacred names of 
Liberty and Freedom; a plot which showed 
the ingenuity of Satan himself, and a cruel 
callousness to the sufferings of millions which 
was superhuman. This plot, I am told, it 
were prudent not to reveal. 

I lay still as death : one laugh from Gustave, 
one gasp for breath from myself, and I was 
doomed Mercifully, at last the tension 
became too great and I fainted. When I 
came to myself all was dark and still again, 
I crept out from the table and struck a 
match. This roused Gustave, who apparently 
had been sleeping off his excitement, and 
unhesitatingly he fluttered to the ground and 

•Vol. «.^37, 

by ^OOgle 

hopped through the right archway. As we 
emerged from the cellar I found that it was 
daylight — the night had passed in that 
terrible place. 

Exhausted as I was, I instantly went to 
Scotland Yard and told them what I had 
heard. They fortunately believed me and 
set inquiries on foot. England was saved 
from a disaster which would have brought 
her enemies flocking like vultures around 
her, and the world from a crime which 
would have stained the Book of Fate 
with a record black as death. Utterly ex- 
hausted, I went straight to bed when I 
reached home, and had food brought to me 

As I am, alas, only too w T ell used to 
adventures and misfortune, I quickly re- 
covered my usual strength— but yet I woke 
next morning with a presentiment of mis- 
fortune, a foreboding of evil Too well was 
this justified. The excitement of visiting his 
old haunts had proved too much for Gustave. 
The parrot was dead ; my occupation w T as 

I telegraphed immediately to Mme. 
Lebrun, and received an answer that she 
Original from 




would return home that evening. She came, 
and great were her lamentations over her 
dead companion — for Gustave was nothing 
less to her. 

That day the police searched the whole 
of the underground part of the square. 
It appeared that the existence of this 
place had long been rumoured in the 
thieves' quarter of London. The origin of 
it was, so far as can be discovered, as 
follows : — 

Many years ago the now half deserted 
square was a fashionable centre in London, 
and a certain noble Earl, famed in history 
for his fearful deeds and his wild life, 
inhabited a great house which formed one 
side of it — now split into separate habita- 
tions, of which that of Mme. Lebrun formed 
one. Under the square, so said rumour, he 
excavated a great subterranean hall. Was 
it simply to outdo his neighbours in the 
recklessness of his expenditure, or for some 
darker reason ? At this distance of time who 
shall say ? Enough that the tradition of the 
place still lingered, and on his return from 
Italy, Beckford heard of it. It touched his 
whimsical imagination, and he bought the 
house subsequently rented by the mother of 
Mme. Lebrun (or Mile., as she should rather 
have been called, for she had never married, 
but had merely taken brevet rank). 

The other openings which I had dimly 
seen, and down which one of the Anarchist 
conspirators (as they were subsequently 
proved) had come, must have been con- 
structed in BeckforcTs time, for it was found 
that the houses which they led to had all 
been inhabited by his friends. Down those 
steps what companies had flocked to what 
unimaginable revels ! But the reason of 
the great fright which had broken up their 
last orgie, and why everything had been left 
in such a sudden hurry, had never been 

discovered. Had the legend of Medenham 
been repeated ? 

The Anarchists had found the hall through 
one of their members telling, when they were 
looking for some safe place to store their 
explosives, that he remembered his father, 
who had been a mason, had told him that 
as a lad he had been employed in mending a 
flight of stone steps in No. — in the square, 
which steps led to a great subterranean hall. 
The house indicated was to let — they took 
it — and but for the wonderful chances of 
Gustave on that night escaping to the 
cellars, and of my accidentally treading on 
the secret spring of the turning stone, their 
fell designs would in time have been accom- 

The whole occurrence was a terrible shock 
to poor Mme. Lebrun. She could not 
bear to leave the house in which her whole 
life had been passed, and yet she said she 
would never feel safe in it again, and no 
wonder. The police knowing of the hall, 
and keeping a watch on it, made some 
difference, but she could not rest until she 
had the flight of steps destroyed, the stone 
cemented down, and the door of the 
cellar which contained it bricked up. 
Then she said she felt a great " soulage- 
mcnt" To me she was most kind, for 
she felt that I had dared more than most 
girls would have done for the protection of 
her favourite. 

But it had been too much for her, and 
she died a short time afterwards. Her 
heir, some distant cousin, a little, dried- 
up, black-avised Frenchman, made short 
work of the Egyptian antiquities. He carried 
off the pictures and the furniture, and in a 
little while a great board announced that for 
the first time for nearly a century No. — , 

Square, was "To let." Who will 

take it next ? 

by Google 

Original from 

Girls' Schools of To-day. 


By L. T. Meade, 

N these days when the 
a Woman's Question" is dis- 
cussed on all sides, and when 
even the most prejudiced of 
the opposite sex are forced to 
admit that women are their 
competitors in almost every walk of life, it is 
interesting to trace the fact to its primary 
source. In this last decade of the century, 
women are being thoroughly educated in the 
broadest and fullest sense of the term, 
Their brains are being developed, their 
bodies stimulated to grow to their full 
dimensions — in consequence, weakness, 
timidity, nerves, mental cowardice, are gradu- 
ally, but surely, creeping into the background* 
and the girls of the present day are able to 
hold their own with their brothers. 

School life is undoubtedly at the root of 
this vast improvement, and my intention in 
this paper is to say a few words with regard 
to school life as it now exists for girls, 

All those who know anything of girls' 
education will feel that the primary place 
amongst English schools must be given to 
the far-famed ladies 1 college at Cheltenham, 
Here, from the child in her kindergarten to 
the girl who is undergoing her examination 
for her London degree, is to be found the 
most perfect training for 
spirit, mind, and body. 

The name of the prin- 
cipal, Dorothea Beale, is 
widely kmwn. I have 
had the privilege of visit- 
ing her at Cheltenham 
College for the purpose of 
writing this paper ; but, 
much as she told me, and 
much as I saw of her 
work, it is difficult in so 
short a space to give any 
just estimate of her modes 
of operation and her 
wonderful personality. 

It would be impossible 
to get any just idea of the 
life which now goes on at 
Cheltenham College 
without knowing a little 
of its past history and 
growth — its past struggle 
for existence seems to ac- 
centuate and strengthen 
the effect of its present 
remarkable success. 

I should like to give the story of the 
college in Miss Beale's own graphic words, 
but as the limits of a magazine paper make 
this impossible, I can only allude to the 
leading and most interesting facts. 

In beginning her account of the college, 
Miss Reale speaks of the great change which 
took place in the education of girls about 
the middle of the present century. Up to 
the year 1847 it was impossible, except in 
very rare cases, for a woman to take a high 
place in the intellectual world — her educa- 
tion generally was unsystematic, and had 
no thoroughness. True, there were such 
women as MarySomerville, Harriet Marti neau, 
and Caroline Cornwallis — there were also 
a few poets and novelists whom all the 
world justly holds in honour; but these 
were exceptional, and showed the strength of 
their characters when they broke through the 
barriers which fenced them off from the fields 
of intellect in which their brothers roamed 
at will. In thosL* days, girls of the middle 
classes were usually taught at home by private 
governesses assisted by masters, or they were 
sent to small boarding schools* Most of 
their time was spent in learning by rote 
what the Schools Inquiry Commissioners 
call *' Miserable Catechisms/' " Lamentable 
Catechisms," u the Nox- 
ious Brood of Catech- 
isms," They worked 
from books which taught 
facts, such facts as the 
following: "State the 
number of houses burnt 
in the fire of London/ 1 
No subject was taught 
scientifically, but merely 
as so much information, 
Mr, Fitch wrote : "I 
have seen girls learning 
by heart the terminology 
of the Linmean system, 
to whom the very ele- 
ments of the vegetable 
physiology were un- 
known — they learnt from 
a catechism the meaning 
of such words as divisi- 
bility, inertia ; knowing 
nothing whatever of the 
physical facts, of which 
these words are the re- 

Miss Beale says of 

Pfvtu a FhvUi- b$ Ct3*nt v of tffoitfwUr titudiu, (JheVe l\, m . 




¥rvm < 



herself: "In 1848 1 was a pupil in a 
school in Paris, which was kept by English 
ladies, We were taught to perform con- 
juring tricks with a globe, by which we 
obtained answers to problems without one 
principle being made intelligible. We were 
even compelled to learn from Lindley Mur- 
ray lists of prepositions, that we might be 
saved the trouble of thinking what part of 
speech it was," 

In her delightful paper, which can be read 
in ful! in the college magazine, Miss Beale 
graphically states how this condition of 
things passed away, how first one college and 
then another was opened to women, how 
Professor Maurice took up the cause of girls' 
education, and at last how Ixjcal Examina- 
tions of the University of Cambridge were 
opened to women — but as this paper refers 
primarily to Cheltenham College, I must goon 
at once to speak of it. 

The college, which now occupies so high a 
position in the educational world, was first 
opened in 1854, in a house which was 
called Cam bray House, and is now an 
overflow school Miss Beale gives an amusing 
account of the opening day. One lady, 
who was present at the opening, writes : 
" I was at the owning of the ladies' 
college on the thirteenth of February, 1854. 
Nine o'clock was the time appointed for us to 
assemble* I remember I was standing in the 
large school-room and our names being called 
over, The eldest of us was eighteen, and the 
infants' department contained some very little 
mites. The subjects taught at present are 
very different from what we had ; nevertheless, 
we worked hard, and the teaching was very 
thorough. Of course, there were clever girls> 

by Google 

and stupid girls, 
and idle girls ; but 
the tone of the 
college was one of 

Another writes : 
Si The opening of 
the ladies' college 
is so very long ago, 
and I was only 
eleven. My chief 
recollection of the 
first day is that a 
good many pupils 
brought their dogs 
w T ith them, and 
that there was a 
general scrimmage 
among these ani- 
mals — eight of 
them fighting in the cloak-room. Naturally, 
no dogs were admitted in the future/' 

The number of pupils when the college 
was first opened was eighty-eight, and by the 
end of the year there were one hundred and 
twenty. From several causes, however, a 
decline in the numbers soon set in, and 
when Miss Beale was appointed principal in 
1858, affairs were in a very critical condition. 
The pupils had fallen to sixty-nine, and of 
these about fifteen had given notice to leave- 
In short, the next two years were ones of 
extreme difficulty, and Miss Beale says that 
it is impossible to give an adequate idea of 
the hard struggle for existence which the 
college had to maintain, and of the minute 
economies they were called upon to practise. 
The principal says : " I was blamed for 
ordering prospectuses, at the cost of fifteen 
shillings, without leave from the secretary. 
Second-hand furniture was procured which 
would not have delighted people of aesthetic 
taste ; curtains w r ere dispensed with as far 
as possible, and it was questioned whether a 
carving knife was required for me in my fur- 
nished apartments. In short, society was 
opposed to the college, 

"Cheltenham was a conservative place, 
and the very name ' college ' frightened 
people. It was said ' Girls would be turned 
into boys if they attended the college.' 
The kind of education, too, was not ap- 
proved ; the curriculum was too advanced, 
though it would now be considered quite 
behind the age. It embraced only English 
studies, French, German, and a very little 
science ; all was taught, it was true, in a 
somewhat thorough way. *It is all very 
well, 1 said a mother, who withdrew her 




daughter at the end of a quarter, 'for my 
daughter to read Shakespeare, but don't 
you think it is more important for her to 
be able to sit down at a piano and amuse 
her friends ? ! 

41 * I had my own opinion/ said Miss Beale, 
* about the kind of amusement she would 
afford them, 1 " 

Speaking of herself, she continues : " I had 
been for some years mathematical tutor at 
Queen's College, London, but 1 was advised 
that it would not do to introduce mathematics. 
Some objected to advanced arithmetic, L My 
dear lady,' said a fattier, * if my daughters 
were going to be bankers it would he very 
well to teach arithmetic as you do, but really 
there is no need/ 

" * No, I have not learnt fractions/ said a 
child, ' my governess told me they were not 
necessary for girls.'" 

Miss Beale also speaks of the great diffi- 
culty of obtaining good teachers, 

** Do you prepare your lessons ? " she 
asked of a candidate for a vacant post. 

"Oh, no"; was the answer, "I never 
profess to teach anything I do not under- 

One was sent to her with such excellent 
recommendations that she thought she had 
found a li black swan." She asked her to come 
down that she might judge for herself. This 
lady could teach literature, history, physi- 
ology, but Miss Beale, to her astonishment, 
discovered that she had literally read nothing 
but little text-books, and proposed to teach 
on the notes of the lessons she had had. 

The college in those early days was not only 
poor, but on the verge of bankruptcy ; this 

Fnmi a\ 


Digitized by GoOglC 

want of money made itself felt in all sorts of 
ways. There was no library, and a grant of 
five pounds did not go very far. There was, 
besides, no lending library in the town ; a 
few stationers lent out books, hut the supply 
was meagre indeed, Miss Beale relates how 
she went into one of the two principal shops 
to see if she could get the " Idylls of the 
King," when the book came out. She was 
answered : " We never have had any poetical 
effusions in the library, and we don't think 
we shall begin now," 

The time of trial* however, was not to be 
followed by defeat. The spirit of the brave: 
principal was not to be daunted— the number? 
in the school rose again to seventy -eight. 
Still the balance was on the wrong side of the 
ledger ; but just then a gentleman in the town, 
a Mr, Brancker, was asked to be auditor. He 
drew up a financial scheme on altogether new 
lines : this was adopted, and from that hour 
the college entered on a new and prosperous 
career. This good man undertook all the 
duties of a secretary gratuitously. His clear 
judgment, his insight into character, his 
courage and frankness made him a most 
valuable adviser, and Miss Beale feels sure 
that had he not taken the helm at that time, 
the college would not have been safely 
steered through the rocks. 

From that hour, however, prosperity 
attended all efforts, prejudices began to give 
way, and the number of pupils increased 

In giving her brief history, Miss Beale 
considers that Cheltenham College has gone 
through three epochs. In the first, she in- 
cludes the twenty years of its life in the 

original college of 
Cam bray* The 
second decade is 
occupied with the 
internal growth 
and consolidation 
of the new college* 
The third takes 
the period of ex- 
ternal develop- 
ment from the 
foundation of the 
College Guild in 

It was at Lady 
Day, 1873, that 
the principal and 
pupils took pos- 
session of the 
present lovely and 
extensive college, 




Miss Beale speaks thus of the change : — 

" I am sure that the change from the plain 
bare walls of Cambray to the beautiful and 
stately surroundings of our new college was 
not without its effect upon teacher and 
taught. Mr. Thring, of Uppingham, used 
to insist, by word and deed, that if we would 
have learning honoured, we should build it a 
fitting habitation. The greater dignity of our 
surroundings made us feel that our teaching 
must not be meagre and bare, but as perfect 
in its form, as attractive in its expression, as 
exact in its details as we were able to make 
it, and thus the material environment re- 
acted upon the intellectual and spiritual : the 
same music is different in a concert-room and 
in a cathedral, where arches and vaulted roof 
respond to the pealing organ, and spirit 
answers to spirit in subtones and harmonics." 

Large as the college was, however, when it 
was opened, it has been added to immensely 
from time to time until it has reached its 
present important dimensions, and there are, 
as it seems to an outsider, class-rooms of 
the most perfect kind, for every possible 
course of education which can be entered 
upon. The richness of the architecture 
of these noble rooms, the beauty of the 
painted windows, the intelligent and wide 
sympathy of the spirit which has governed 
and planned the whole can scarcely be de- 
scribed ; the rooms must be seen, the kindly 
spirit must be felt, to make it possible to 
understand the vastness of the influence 
which has been at work. 

The guild of the college was formed in 
the July of 1883, and thus began, as Miss 
Beale says, the period of external develop- 
ment The guild is the means of uniting 
old and new members in a common interest, 
which does not cease with school life. It 
maintains a mission at Bethnal Green. 

The badge is a daisy — that flower loved of 
poets. The open daisy is the emblem of 
the soul ; closed, it is the pearl of flowers, 
the emblem of purity. " It is," writes 
Ruskin, " infinitely dear, as the bringer of 
light ; ruby, white, and gold, the three 
colours of the day, with no hue of shade in it." 

The objects of the guild are many, some 
articles of its creed being that it is a duty all 
through life to continue one's own education 
— that the worst thing one can do with any 
talent is to bury it. 

Junior members are expected not only to 
follow a definite course of study, but also to 
undertake some domestic form of work. 
Miss Beale feels very strongly that the better 
trained a woman is mentally, the more 

Digitized by (jQOglC 

thoroughly she will attend to the minutiae of 
daily life, and that a knowledge of mathe- 
matics, so far from militating against home 
comforts, will, by the training it gives in 
system and effort, enable her all the better 
to keep the household machinery in order. 

It was a bright day in the end of October 
when I paid my first visit to Cheltenham 
College. I found the principal standing on 
a raised platform at one end of the great 
hall. She received me in the heartiest and 
most genial manner, and told me at once she 
had made arrangements to give up her day to 
me. I can truly say that she kept her word. 
I arrived at the college at about half-past 
twelve, and from then until half-past five we 
went from class-room to class-room, from 
boarding-house to boarding-house, with only 
brief intervals for refreshment. While she took 
me round, Miss Beale explained her systems 
and methods of work in a clear, incisive style, 
peculiarly her own. There was no attempt 
at boasting, no trace of gratified vanity in the 
enormous success of the wonderful place 
which she has practically made. Her whole 
soul is in her work, but she is too great and 
also too simple of heart to be vain. 

Viewed as a whole, the college has a 
colossal and almost bewildering effect upon 
a new-comer; but the boarding-houses, fifteen 
in number, strike one at once as pictures of 
simplicity and home comfort Two of the 
houses are specially devoted to girls of 
limited means, where the fees are exception- 
ally low ; bui here, as in the others, there is 
the same delightful sympathetic house- 
mistress, the beautifully arranged sitting- 
rooms, the cheerful dining-halls, and the 
bright, cosy bedrooms, either single, or 
curtained off into cubicles. 

Of the many boarding-houses, St. Hilda's 
is probably the most perfect. It was built 
especially for the college, and is full of all 
modern beauty and contrivance. No girl is 
admitted to St. Hilda's under eighteen. 

After going round the college and the 
other boarding-houses I arrived there in time 
for tea, and shall not soon forget the cosy 
effect of the charming little room into which 
I was ushered. Tea was ready, a fire was 
burning brightly, there was a sofa, some easy 
chairs, small tables, little bookcases, photo- 
graphs, ornaments of all kinds. 

"And where am I to sleep ? " I asked of 
the girl-student who was with me. 

u Why, here," was the reply : u this is your 

I looked around me in some bewilderment 
and momentary dismay. A charming sitting- 




From a] 

room was all very 
well, but I was 
tired and hot, 
and dirty. In a 
moment, how- 
ever, the secret of 
the magical room 
was revealed to 
me. When a 
cover was slipped 
off the sofa a 
comfortable bed 
appeared. When 
a spring was 
touched in the 
bureau a shelf 
dropped sud- 
denly down, and 
all necessary 
washing appa- 
ratus came into 
view. That 
bureau is such a 
clever construc- 
tion that it de- 
serves a word to 
itself. At one 
side are the washing arrangements, at the 
other a writing-desk and chest of drawers; on 
the top is a cabinet with glass doors, meant 
to contain either books or ornaments. 

I had supper at St Hilda's, made the 
acquaintance of Miss Lumby, the delightful 
principal of the house, and afterwards saw 
the girls dance in the beautiful drawing-room. 
They all dressed for the evening, and it would 
have been difficult to see brighter, more 
interesting, or happier faces. 

Early next morning I returned to the 
college, where I was present at what is 
perhaps the most impressive sight in this 
beautiful house of learning, morning prayers. 
The great hall, more than 100ft long, 30ft 
wide, and 41ft high in the centre, with its deep 
gallery at the farther end, was completely filled 
with girls and teachers. The short service 
was all that was solemn, sweet, and in- 
vigorating. It was worth going to prayers to 
hear the singing alone. Afterwards the girls 
filed out, one by one, going immediately 
to their different class-rooms. Miss Beale 
took the second division in Scripture, 
and I had the privilege of listening to 
a most impressive and practical address. 
Afterwards she took me round the class- 
rooms again, and I saw teachers and pupils 
busily at work. There was no haste, no 
excitement, no undue pressure. All the 
work is done in the morning, the afternoons 

Digitized by G* 



being devoted to 
necessary pre- 
paration, and to 
games, walks, etc. 
I have alluded 
already to the 
beautiful college 
buildings, hut I 
must add a few 
words about the 
lovely stained- 
glass windows, 
which are very 
fine examples of 
the art, and are 
not easily for- 
gotten by those 
who have seen 
them. The win- 
dows are given in 
of some special 
friends of the col- 
lege, and the sub- 
jects are taken 
from the story of 
Britomart, in 
' Britomart gives 
perfect woman, 
story of Bri to- 
acted by the 

Spenser's M Faery Queen*' 
the poet's ideal of a 
A short time ago the 
mart was dramatized and 

There are six hundred regular pupils, 
besides many occasional ones. Such is the 
completeness of the organization that each 
pupil is cared for as an individual, and no 
two girls have exactly the same time-table. 
There are about fifty regular teachers, besides 
many visiting lecturers and masters. The 
institution may be called an aggregate of 
schools. There are, in fact, seven Head 
Mistresses, or Heads of Departments, work- 
ing with considerable independence under the 
Principal. There is the Vice-Principal, the 
Head Mistress of the second and third 
divisions ; the Head of the London B. A, 
and B, Sc. class, of the Cambridge Higher 
and the Oxford A, A. local classes; lastly, 
the two Heads of the Education and Kinder- 
garten departments- The Principal also 
gives a considerable share of the workings to 
the class-teachers, thus training up com- 
petent heads for all other school s> whilst these 
are able to avail themselves of her larger 
experience. She considers the right maxim 
for a ruler is : " If you want a thing done, 
don't do it yourself," and commends 
especially the old woman who set everything 
in motion to get the pig over the stile. As 




nearly all the teachers are her own pupils and 
they understand one another thoroughly, the 
whole works most harmoniously. 

The Musical Department is extremely 
efficient. There are thirty teachers, a special 

Gymnastics are not neglected. These are 
taught by a Swede. There are twenty-six 
tennis grounds, and two fives, besides a play- 
ground of about twelve acres for games which 
require much space. 


wing is devoted to it, and about fifteen 
hundred lessons are given weekly. 

The science department is very complete, 
containing a central lecture - room, two 
chemical laboratories for practical work, a 
weighing - room, one for physics, two for 
biology, besides a museum 70ft by 26ft. 

There is a beautiful studio 60ft by 30ft- 


mnx, Chf HtnAnm, 

The fees for the ordinary course of 
education at Cheltenham College for pupils 
over fifteen are eight guineas a term ; 
under fifteen, six guineas ; under ten, four 

The fees for residence at the hoarding- 
houses vary from fifty to seventy guineas per 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 


BOKN I 85 I. 

Fnm\ a] 


NOTTINGHAM, was educated 
at Eton and Balliol College, 


Oxford, and graduated M,A. in 1876 ; he 
sat as M,I\ for Lincolnshire S, (C) in 1884, 
and for Holland, or the Spalding Division of 

Fitrm a PhtiU*. l*y\ 

AG£ -J. 

[Alex* Banana. 

Lincolnshire, from 1885 to '87* His lord- 
ship's name is now prominently before the 
public in connection with the great interest 
taken by him in agricultural matters. 


I J. ThamBun. 



From a \ 



Born 182,3. 
received his education at St. Paul's 
School. W hen his father was 
Attorney - General, in 1 843-44, 
Mr, Pollock acted as his secretary, and later 
became a pupil of the late Mr. Justice Wills, 
and was called to the Bar in 1847, being made 
a Q.C. in 1866. He was appointed Baron 
of the Exchequer in 1873, and soon after 
received the honour of Knighthood. 

AtiE 37. 


Prom a /*Ao*o. d»] 

A*iE 44. 

Ifi^iR*** d Cktrrill 



it J. J. WhitLxk, 



Fro/ma] ACiii 18, | Watir-Cuiuiir 1/rau-tiHr. 

STONE, detest daughter of the 
late Sir Stephen Glynne, Bart, 
was married to Mr. William Ewart 
Gladstone in 1H39. She is ikjL 
merely known as the wife of the Grand Old 
Man of England, but she has also won no 
unimportant place in contemporary history by 
her large-hearted and systematic benevolence. 

Digitized by C_t 

cholera epi- 
demics, Mrs, 
much of her 
time to the 
sick and con- 
valescent, and has since founded the Conva- 
lescent Home at Woodford, Essex, with whose 
good work everyone is well acquainted* 


Prom a Photo, by MrndtUtokn 



A5H 3 :. 


Born 1830. 
NE of our ablest railway managers 
is Sir Myles Fenton, whose long 
experience of railway work fully 
entitles him to control the destinies 
of the South-Eastern Railway. 
Sir Myles began his railway career as early as 
1845, by joining the Kendal and Windermere 
Railway, since when he has varied his 
experience during his connection with various 
lines, such as the East Lancashire, the London 

JVwn a jMowilHitf km 

W- L>. Uut«/n 

and South-Western, and also as General 
Manager of the Metropolitan Railway, a post 
filled by him for eighteen years with con- 
spicuous success. In 1880, the important 

Digitized by t^OOQ IC 

position of General Manager of the South- 
Eastern Railway was offered to Sir Myles 
Fenton, who ever since has given unmistak- 
able proofs of his being well qualified to 

From a] 

[ phfttoffraith. 

control "the most difficult railway to manage." 
Sir Myles is a Lieut. -Col of the Engineer 
and Railway Volunteer Staff Corps, and was 
knighted in i88i> 

Frvm a ftoto tad . . r resent day. 


[Elliott <£ FrgL 








1 3 Ih 


tBI -*•-• " J8B 


' "' t 





**■ -'^''■^'^1 


Pram a PJLoto. 

I G&nkm tt Co., /"uinvy. 

/tym a FM*. M ace 17, [ffrcpirry, J Maraud, 



MR. T. SULLIVAN, Tyne for ^400 and the championship 

Born 1868. cup, but is reported to be so dissatisfied 

HE English championship of the with the result that a second match is to 

sculling world was held, until take place shortly between the rivals, 

qui t e 


]y, by 
Tom Sullivan. 
He first started 
sculling at 13 
years of age, and 
in 1888 and 1889 
he met M'Kay, 
the then amateur 
champion of New 
Zealand , whom 
he conquered. In 
iSqi he met and 
defeated George 
Bubear upon the 
Nepean with ease, 
while on only two 
occasions since 
he joined the 

professional ranks Fmm * rhotv. bv smyth?, Pntnf Vl 
has he suffered 

defeat, the first being at thehands of Stansbury, 
when he rowed for the championship of 
the world It may bo mentioned, however, 
that Sullivan holds the records for both 
the Parramatta and Nepcan rivers, the only 
two recognised waterways of Australia. For the 
latter his time is igmin. 15 sec, for the full 
championship course, and the former iSmin. 
4i^sec, One of his greatest races was that 
against Bubear on the Thames for the champion- 
ship of England and the Sportsman's challenge 
cup, in which he won as he wished. On the 
tfith of last month, Sullivan was beaten by 
C R. Harding, of Chelsea* in a match on the present dat. 

01 Frew u I^hviz *v fcrttoi 4 £0,, Fbt*ef + 


By Mrs, Egerton Eastwick (Plevdell North), 

HEY came across one another 
at the — — Hotel, Brighton. 

John Brawnlow Winterden, 
in passing the door of No, — , 
had heard the sound of cough- 
ing within, varied occasionally 
by a moan of pain and disease; or by a 
voice, weak, monotonous, depressed. One 
day he asked the chambermaid the name and 
condition of the sufferer ; the voice was 
plainly that of a man* He learned in reply 
that the occupant of the room was a 
Mr, Julius Hatton, that his present illness 
was the result of a severe attack of 
inflammation of the lungs, and that his 
ultimate recovery was considered more than 
doubtful. He was under the aire of a 
hospital nurse, sent by the doctor in attend- 
ance, No relations or friends had been to 
see him, and no inquiries had been made. 

After John Winterden had gathered these 
particulars, he went out to the beach, and for 
an hour ploughed the shingle, watching with 
his bodily eyes a grey horizon, merged in the 
greens and browns of a turbid sea, but having 

Digitized by Lt< 

before his mental vision a far different scene. 
The whole thing had been recalled by the 
name " Julius Hatton n — although Julius 
Hatton had played no part in the affair when 
it had most concerned John Winterden. 

The picture he saw was that of a long 
dining-room^ warmly lit in the sombre after- 
noon by the blaze of a great coal fire ; at the 
table sat a woman, her head bowed upon her 
arm, which, outstretched upon the crimson 
cloth, showed its round proportions through 
the tightly-fitting sleeve of black ; the warm 
light caught and illumined the coils of yellow 

The figure was very plainly gowned, but 
upon one of the white fingers which Lay so 
listlessly upon the crimson cloth a great 
diamond shone, and that, too, caught the 
fire gleam, and flashed in it, The diamond 
had been his, John Winterden's, gift. 

Not far from the hand, lying as though 
pushed away, was a book, newly bound, 
newly labelled, from Mudie's. 

"Oh, Jack — how could you — how could 


Original from 



The words fell with the pained moan of a 
creature wounded to death, but resentless. 

" Clothilde, I give you my word." 

" Your word, when not another soul knows 
but yourself, when the very phrases that I 
used in my letters to you are repeated there ! " 
She made a gesture towards the book. 
"Words as sacred as my love — sacred as 
death — and you have coined them into 
money, won notoriety out of them, and 
thought to shield yourself behind a false 
name. Oh ! how could you, how could 
you ? " 

In the excitement of her speech she had 
raised her face ; it was pale, moulded with a 
generous and yet delicate touch. It bore 
no signs of tears, but it was drawn and pitiful 
with a grief worse to see. It was the face of 
a woman of perhaps twenty-six years of age. 

John Winterden stood silent beneath the 
reproach of the eyes that a week ago had 
held for him the secret of all joy. Every- 
thing that he could say had been said ; he 
had only his word to offer. The head 
drooped again until the face was hidden. 
Then he spoke : — 

"Clothilde, I swear I will find the man 
who wrote that book. The story is yours, 
the words are yours : I know them. They 
have been stolen from me ; how, I cannot 
tell. I have never left your letters in any 
unlocked place. I have never spoken of the 
history you intrusted to my honour, much 
less sold it, as you hint, or made capital out 
of it for my own aggrandizement or profit" 

Now, looking back, John Winterden knew 
that he had spoken coldly and with measured 
words. He, too, was smarting under the 
sense that she could so mistrust him, and the 
inexplicable nature of the thing. 

He had waited, half hoping that she would 
again look up, perhaps with some light of 
faith and reassurance in her eyes, some 
word that might hold possible comfort for 
them both ; but neither word nor look had 
been given, and he had left her, sorrowfully, 
but still with some indignation on his side. 
Afterwards he had written to her, saying that 
unless she summoned him to her presence 
he would not see her again until he could 
bring with him his justification. The 
summons had not come, and she had sent 
him back the diamond ring. 

He had not known until then how deeply 
he had loved her, and the knowledge had 
lasted until now; indignation had died out 
long ago, in a deep pitifulness for all she 
must endure in the betrayal of the sorrow and 
suffering of the past-; the exposure of the 

Digitized by \*< 

thoughts, the love, the hopes, and the fears 
Jhat had been meant for him alone. 

And this would affect her the more, because 
she was by nature a very reticent woman, 
and her reticence had been increased by 
pain. There was no escape for her. The 
book — on account of its deadly realism, its 
unveiling of the true tortures of a true 
woman, of a soul that had been dragged 
down the path that should have led to 
destruction, and yet had escaped unscathed, 
and in its essence unsullied — became popular; 
and those who knew something of the bare 
outlines of her story associated her with the 
hideous revelation, and attributed to it the 
separation from her lover, which almost 
immediately followed its appearance. 

That he had already been made the sole 
recipient of her confidence no one knew, and 
no one consequently thought of crediting him 
with the cruel exposure. It was generally 
held that this might be the work of some 
slighted or discarded lover, in whom she had 
unwisely confided. No effort at concealment 
had been made ; the story had been told in 
the form of letters and a duplex diary ; her 
share in it had been reproduced almost 
verbatim from actual documents in the hands 
of John Winterden ; the answers, except for 
an occasional phrase, in which the latter 
recognised comments that he had made and 
written upon the margins of her letters, were 
imaginary and consequently less effective. 

The hero was felt to be, in spite of the 
author's assertions to the contrary, a shallow 
and slight creation, unworthy of the woman's 
passionate confidence. A fundamental diver- 
gence from the truth lay, moreover, in the fact 
that the, friendship of the lovers was placed 
during the husband's life-time, and their 
passion (minutely analyzed in the diary 
portions) supposed to have culminated in 
the death of the heroine. Whereas John 
Winterden had never met Clothilde d' Alton 
before her widowhood. 

And now two years had passed, and the 
authorship of the book that had wrought so 
much misery still remained a mystery. To 
all inquiries the publishers merely replied that 
the writer desired to remain unknown : and 
Winterden had no case to justify persistence 
in unearthing him or her — he sometimes 
thought the work must be that of a woman. 
He could point to no time when the letters 
had been out of his own keeping ; when he 
had travelled they had travelled with him, 
always safely secured ; his possessions had 
never, to his knowledge, been abstracted or 
broken into. If he Droduced the letters to 

1 a 1 1 r_u 1 1 




prove that they had been copied verbatim, 
he would only fit and fix more firmly 
the insult and notoriety upon the head he 
loved. Indignation against her had died 
long ago ; love and the thought of her inno- 
cent suffering had overpowered any memory 
of his own wrongs ; even when, at the end of 
a year, he had heard of her engagement to 
Julius Hatton, resentment had found no 
place in his regret 

He had gone abroad then, and only 
returned within the last few weeks ; he had 

he might have the pleasure of seeing Mr. 
Winterden that afternoon, provided always 
the latter had not repented of his kind offer 
of the previous day/' 

John Winterden had not repented, and 
about four o'clock went to the sick man's 
room. A small, emaciated figure lay upon 
the bed ; a figure with a boyish, sensitive 
face, a woman's mouth, and eyes which, the 
restlessness of fever having passed, remained 
large in humid greyness and seeming pitiful 
prayer for the life that was slipping away, 






never heard either of the marriage or that 
the engagement was cancelled ; only, how 
came it to pass that Julius Hatton lay alone 
and sick to death in an hotel ? Where was 
she ? Could it be the same man, or another 
of the name? 

That evening John Winterden sent in his 
card, and offered his services if his presence 
could be of any assistance or comfort to the 
sick man, The reply was brought by the 
nurse ; she said that her patient shrank from 
receiving the visits of a stranger in his present 
state, although sincerely thanking Mr. 
Winterden for his kindness. 

There the matter seemed to be at an end ; 
not without, on John Winterden's part, a keen 
sense of disappointment. The following 
morning, however, he was surprised to receive 
a note, written, he judged, by the nurse, hut 
dictated by the sick man* It said that 
4t Mr. Hatton, feeling slightly better, hoped 

Digitized by *jt 

The strong man whose physique had re- 
sisted the shocks of fate and fortune felt 
strangely moved ; he sat down by the other's 
side, and the nurse, thankful for a respite 
from her cares, slipped away for an hour's 
rest and a quiet cup of afternoon tea. 

That visit was the commencement of a 
curious friendship between these two most 
dissimilar men, Julius Hatton had reached 
a stage where life might flicker out and die at 
any moment, while yet the faint vitality craved 
interest and amusement ; and these, in his 
present dearth of close ties, it seemed to 
fall naturally to the lot of the stronger man 
to supply. 

The name of Clothilde d T Alton was never 
mentioned, and seeing the weak, boyish 
nature of this Julius, the idea that he could 
be identical with the man upon whom her 
second choice had fallen died from John 
Wbterden's^^ a | frorn 




Hatton, however, had two strong personal 
claims : a great natural sweetness of disposi- 
tion which underlay the irritability of disease 
clothing his deficiencies with that undefinable 
attraction that creates love in stronger 
minds ; while through a certain slight morally 
defective or oblique organization flashed now 
and again the light of a clear and far-seeing 
perception, which blinded John Winterden's 
honest practical limitations and deductions, 
and proclaimed the weaker soul a genius 
and a poet half-born. 

Autumn deepened into winter, and still 
Julius Hatton lingered. No friends came to 
see him, he received few letters, and no 
inquiries were made, so far as Winterden 
could discover. Once he asked, Was there 
anyone whom the sick man would wish 
summoned or communicated with? Hatton 
replied, whimsically, that, barring a brother in 
India, his only remaining relation was an 
elderly aunt, from whose attentions he pre- 
ferred to be exempt. He was plainly not a 
rich man, though he showed no immediate 
want of funds. 

Under the genial influence, the slight 
excitement of John Winterden's society, he 
so far rallied as to be able on bright days to 
leave his room and take a turn upon the 
Parade, leaning upon his friend's arm ; but 
as October days shortened into the bleaker 
outlook of November, he again failed rapidly. 

John Winterden, watching him, knew that 
no care could prolong his life through the 
winter, and suffered so much in the thought, 
that he was angry with himself for having 
risked the possibility of this new pain. 

At last, in December the time came to be 
numbered by hours; Hatton was plainly 
dying of heart disease and consumption, 
engendered by pneumonia. 

Winterden had been out for his lonely 
afternoon walk, and returning met the doctor 
upon the stairs of the hotel. 

" I have just left Mr. Hatton," he said. 
" It is right you should know : another forty- 
eight hours, perhaps ; I cannot give him 
longer. The vital principle, always slight, is 
almost exhausted ; there was no stamina to 
resist disease." 

It was then dark ; John Winterden went 
for a few moments to his own room, then 
straight to that of his friend. Hatton lay 
upon the bed, the mere semblance of a man ; 
wasted, thin, and small ; only the grey eyes, 
shadowed by dark brows and lashes, looked 
larger, blacker for the change. The nurse 
was sitting by the fire ; she rose and went 
out of the room, as she often did when 

.Vo..bc.- 3 a 

Winterden entered. John took his usual 
place beside the bed. 

" Winterden, I want you to do something 
for me ; to-night, when we are alone." 

" Anything that I can." 

" This is not difficult. You see that black 
leather case, there, on the chest of drawers ? 
It contains letters, papers. I want you to 
burn them, to let me see them burnt" 

A faint flush had risen to the thin face ; the 
voice held an eagerness hitherto absent from 
vibrations which had been languid, pettish, 
affectionate, or even inspired, but never 
expressive of desire; the one great desire, 
the desire of life, had lain in the eyes, where 
now also had crept the fear of death. 

" Be quite at rest; I will do as you wish. 
I will sit with you through the night : it is my 
turn." -*" 

The night came ; the night of a vigil 
which John Winterden was not likely to for- 
get. The nurse had made up the fire, placed 
medicines and nourishment within reach, 
and retired to rest until five in the morning, 
at which hour Winterden was to be relieved. 
For a time Julius Hatton seemed inclined to 
sleep, but about midnight he roused and 
called to his companion. Winterden went at 
once to his side. 

"You will do it — what you promised — 
now ? " said Hatton, eagerly. "The keys are in 
the right-hand drawer." 

A few minutes more and Winterden had 
laid the open case upon the bed, and the 
thin white fingers pointed out a packet of 
letters and a flat manuscript book. 

11 There," he said ; " let me see them burnt 
before my eyes." 

Winterden closed and replaced the case, 
then went over to the fire with the letters and 
the book in his hand. He threw the former 
at once upon the embers ; and the red light 
flamed up and lit the face of the man whose 
life-story was perishing with them. 

The book seemed too thick to consume at 
once, and Winterden tore out some of the 
pages, that he might destroy it by degrees. 
The flame from the burning letters fell upon 
the papers he held, illuminating them for a 
moment with a most vivid brightness ; and a 
name, a sentence, flashed itself across his 
eyes and struck into his brain with the force 
of an electric shock. 

Without an instant's hesitation he crumpled 
the papers in his hand and tore others from 
the book ; these, after a rapid glance, he 
threw upon the flames in place of those he 
held. In a few minutes the grate was strewn 
with ashes, the flame had finally died down, 




and the man upon the bed breathed a sigh 
of relief 

Winterden quietly crossed the room and 
gave him his usual sleeping draught, to-night 
purposely postponed. 

" Now," said Hatton, gratefully, " I think 
I can sleep," and turned upon his side. 

few necessaries for the one night he was to 
spend at the hotel, Intending to cross by 
the night boat, he did not reclaim his posses- 
sions until the evening of the following day, 
when they were safely delivered up in ac- 
cordance with the ticket which he held ; but 
he now remembered that he had been asked 

"let me see them burnt before my eyes*" 

There was silence in the room. Winterden 
had raked out the ashes and replenished the 
fire ; he drew the night-lamp nearer, and 
waited until the regular breathing of his 
patient told that the draught had taken 
effect. Then he cautiously drew from his 
pocket the crumpled sheets and smoothed 
them out upon the table before him. The 
name and the sentence that he had seen 
assured him that he had a right to their 
perusal, yet he glanced up guiltily at the 
sleeping form with a sense that he was robbing 
a helpless and a dying man, and betraying a 
sacred trust 

The extracts from the diary which he had 
preserved were dated nearly three years be- 
fore, and recorded a transaction which, in its 
singular simplicity and audacious fraud, filled 
him with amaze and just indignation, but also 
with some pity, and recalled an incident, so 
slight that it had hitherto almost escaped 
his memory, but which, as it now transpired, 
had held the germ of the disaster of his life, 

The incident was as follows : — 

Passing through town about three years 
ago on his way to Paris, he had left »n the 
cloak-room of the Victoria Station all his lug- 
gage excepting the Gladstone, which held the 

by dOOglC 

to state which of two portmanteaus, almost 
exactly similar in make and size, belonged to 
him. He had been able to identify his own 
by a stain upon the leather — the result of an 
accident ; no hint at previous difficulty had 
been given ; he was late for the train and 
too hurried to ask questions, had in fact 
never given the matter a second thought ; 
his possessions were there, and secure ; and 
they were at once given to the porter to be 
wheeled to the luggage van. 

The first entry in the diary which proved 
of interest was headed George Street, W. T 
26th October, iS — > the same day as that on 
which he had deposited his luggage. 

11 4 p.m. I have arrived in Babylon, and 
secured a room — a roof over my head so 
long as funds last. God knows what is 
before me, Johnson and Grasse write 
suggesting that in place of * Progress J I 
should provide them with a realistic romance, 
not immoral There seems to be a mania for 
analyzing temptation, 

11 How am I to write of that of which I 




know comparatively nothing ? I am twenty- 
two, and have not yet experienced a grand 
passion ! What an anomaly. At the same 
time, I am likely to starve and seek to assuage 
bodily hunger by taking a clerkship at ^60 
per annum, provided always that I can get it : 
and then I should starve — body and soul — 
starve for freedom and fresh air. What was 
the story of the man who committed a murder 
that he might be realistic over the murderer's 
remorse? Must I — bah!- -I must go out, 
tramp the streets — there's tragedy there if I 
could fathom it — and back to the station. 
"8 p.m. A curious coincidence, almost 

I might say a special Providence — or a 
favour from the Evil One — which ? At any 
rate, a temptation, a horrible temptation. 

" 1 went to the station to take out the 
portmanteau which holds the greater part of 
my worldly belongings, and which I had left 
in the cloak-room while I tramped in search 
of a shelter, a cab not being allowable under 
the circumstances. I got it here for a 
shilling ; mine in shape, size, general appear- 
ance and number of ticket ; also, more 
strange, the lock yielded to my key. Within, 
a suit of dress clothes, not mine, and a 
packet of papers. 

" My first feeling was one of annoyance at 
discomfort for the night, the possible loss of 
my own belongings, or the trouble of return- 
ing at once, tired out as I was, to the station 
to rectify the mistake. Then the papers 
fascinated me, my curiosity was roused ; they 
were bulky, and written apparently in a 
woman's hand. 

" At last I touched them, moved with my 
finger the corner of an envelope which lay 
at the top ; the address on the under side. 
On a folded sheet beneath I read these words : 

I I have told you the history of my life, laid 
bare before you the story of my soul as it is 
known to none other save God, and therein 
you will read the truth so far as words can 
tell it, for It is in the heart, not in incident, 
that the depth of tragedy lies.' 

"After that I took the packet into my 
hands. The envelope was addressed to 
'J. Brownlow, Esq.,' the letter was signed, 
1 Clothilde.' Beneath the letter were many 
folded sheets, closely written. It took me 
more than an hour to read them through; 
having commenced, I found it impossible to 
stop. They contained the revelation of a 
noble woman's soul, in the throes of ignoble 
bondage, struggling through misery, degrada- 
tion, and shame, yet clinging to some self- 
revealed standard of purity and truth ; 
striving to shake off the contamination of 

Digitized by LiOOgJC 

foulness, but at times dragged down, hopeless, 

" She had borne, first, the actuality and, 
afterwards, its memory in silence, until she 
met the man to whom, because she loved 
him, she revealed the secret of her life. She 
judged him large-hearted, magnanimous, 
pitiful — and from a few notes written in 
pencil on the margin of the papers, I fancied 
that her confidence was not misplaced. I 
also gathered that, although never condemna- 
tory, he was not afraid to rectify the errors of 
her less disciplined nature. 

" The husband's picture was drawn with a 
touch here and there, highly suggestive. The 
smooth face, the finely-cut lips that could 
smile so sweetly, and yet were sensually 
cruel ; the loss of all sense of honour, covered 
by an air of benignity — the outline was not 
difficult to fill. 

" The whole story presented itself with the 
clearness of a revelation, which it was — for 
revelation is truth ; and this was truth. 

" Then came my temptation. I knew that 
in the discovery lay my worldly salvation ; 
and I had not sought it : it had come to me 
by what is called pure accident. Who would 
know, who would be the worse for my avail- 
ing myself of opportunity ? 

" The facts must be in some way disguised. 
I gather from the MS. that the husband is 
dead : I would make him still alive; and with 
the impossibility of redemption apart from 
dishonour, I would make her die like a 
broken flower upon the rock of passion, 
shamed by her surroundings, but nervously 
shrinking from the only other possibility of 

" The man, as I see him, is painfully strong 
and upright ; the woman inherently pure and 
cruelly sensitive. 

" It will be interesting to imagine these 
two natures coming into contact under the 
influences of present danger and denied 
happiness, rather than under the comparative 
calm of retrospect. To-night I can take 
down the greater part of the papers in short- 
hand ; to-morrow morning, early, I will return 
the portmanteau to the cloak-room ; provided 
that I do not encounter the owner, my posi- 
tion is safe ! If this be dishonour — it is fate, 
not I, that is responsible, and the morbid 
craving of the age." 

Winterden read this analysis of himself and 
her with growing anger and contempt for 
the trickster who had wronged them both ; 
but also with the consciousness of great 
possible joy. His time had come ; the 
means of h?s reinstatement lay within his 


3 OQ 


hand The identity of names between the 
man who had violated the sanctity of her 
life, and the man who had afterwards taken 
the place which he himself had once held in 
her regard, was not the least strange part of 
the affair. 

It seemed almost impossible to credit this 
poor weakling, whose faintly drawn breaths 
broke the night stillness, with the double part, 
yet no other solution of the mystery presented 
itself. If the assumption were true, Clothilde 
d 1 Alton was at all events doubly free. 

The fact that no idea should have occurred 
to Hatton of associating him, John Winter- 
den, with the J, Brownlow of the letters, was 
accounted for by the fact that he had rarely 
made use of his 
original patrony- 
mic since his 
adoption of that 
of his mother 
w T ith the falling in 
of a small estate 
some eighteen 
months before, 

"Winterden — 
John -» 

Hatton was 
awake and call- 
ing to him. He 
went over to the 
bed, and the grey 
eyes, wide open 
now and restless, 
watched his com- 

" You have 
burnt the papers * 

W i n t e r d e n 
hesitated; how 

was he to lie to a dying man, and yet, still 
more, how tell him the truth ? He stood 

** Because," said the other, restlessly, 
" I have been dreaming — dreaming of — of a 
woman I wronged, I dreamed that she 
came— here— and stood where you are 
standing, and that her anger and contempt 
went with me through death, and there was 
no pardon in her eyes. But — I— loved her 
—I grew to love her first through — through 
some letters of hers that I read — and — and 
published. It is a secret, but I must tell 
you before I die, You will not betray me ? " 

The papers were in the breast-pocket of 
John Winterden's coat ; they might have 
been live coals* 

The sick man luckily waited for no answer, 

" 1 know that I can trust you," he went on, 
with the weak, halting rapidity of tongue that 
belongs to numbered hours, " I have proved 
you — I — I. met her afterwards, sought her 
out. I heard that the published letters had 
wrought trouble. I thought I might atone — 
but— 1 — I was always a coward, and I grew 
to love her so dearly. I wanted her for 
myself, and the other man was gone — what 
was the use?— and for a little while she 
listened to me, talked with me, told me how 
she had suffered ; then we quarrelled — I was 
jealous — I began to see that through it all 
she loved that other man. Jack — Jack — it 
was always Jack." He spoke the last 
sentence pettishly t turning his head away like 

a spoilt child, 
remembering un- 
merited wrong, 

The heart that 
beat beneath the 
letters throbbed 
For a moment 
Hatton lay still, 
i exhausted; then 
the grey eyes 
opened again and 
travelled back to 
the grave face 
that awaited their 

by Google 


tl Give me 
something — I 
am tired. " 

W i n t e r d e n 
held the usual 
cordial to his 
lips, raising the 
frail body gently, 
as though the 
spirit within had 
done him no 

"Well — we 
quarrelled — and 
parted — went 
our different 
ways. Then I got ill Money had come ; 
although I dared not publish as the author 
of ' 1 Vied in the Furnace ■ j still my work 
sold, but it was too late, I have never seen 
her — again — tut now I want her to come 
before 1 die — 1 know where she is/* 
" What do you want me to do ? " 
" Write for me, just a line, will you ? Say 
Julius Hatton is dying— say I shall live to 
see her if she comes at once. Only, if she 
had that look in her eyes— if she knew and 




condemned — I could not bear it ; promise 
that you will not betray me. Let me die 
quietly, looking in her face— seeing her smile 
■ — assured that she will never know," 

I( Never ! " said Winterden* He thought 
his passion must have betrayed itself even 
in the single word, 

" Gh> perhaps hereafter, if there be one. 
That is beyond you and me — but can't you 
understand that I desire she should think 
well of me as long as possible ? —remember 
only that I loved her, Death atones for so 


"You will write at once? You will find 

and a miniature, a delicately tinted photograph 
in a frame of carved ivory. 

He had kept nothing ; not a line of her 
writing, nothing to remind him of that which 
he had lost He looked so long and so 
intently at the well-known face that Hatton 
grew restless, 

" You are going to write ?" he said, 

" Yes, I am going to write," 

The other gave a sigh of relief* " She 
will surely come," he muttered. He was 
exhausted with the excitement of memory, 
the effort of speech, and now lay perfectly 

Winterden went over to the table, and, 


the address there in my pocket-book, with 
the portrait — I did not give that back," 

"Yes, I will write," 

" And my secret, you will keep my 
secret ? " 

" What have I to do with your secret ? It 
is no affair of mine," 

The dim eyes stared at him uneasily : — 

" You strong, conscientious people can be 
very hard — perhaps you have never been 
tempted ; but still, give me the pocket- 

Winterden complied. He did not say 
how well he knew the address of Clothilde 

Presently he held in his hands a short 
note, a mere formal invitation to dinner, 
addressed from the house in Cadogan Square, 

Digitized by K* 

with the portrait before him, 
wrote a few formal lines ; — 

"Dear Mrs. D'Alton, — I 
am writing to you by the re- 
quest of Julius Hatton. He 
has been lying at this hotel for 
some months seriously ill, and 
\% most anxious to see you. 
To make you more inclined to 
grant his request, perhaps, I 
should tell you that I believe it to be that of 
a dying man. If you decide to come, come 
at once, 

" Yours very sincerely, 

"J, Brownlow Winterden/' 
He folded, inclosed, and addressed the letter, 
and then sat for awhile staring into the fire + 

When his vigil was at an end, and the 
nurse came to relieve him at the turn of the 
night* the papers which contained his justifi- 
cation were still in his possession. He had 
given no definite promise to Julius Hatton, 
and he could not assure himself that he had 
no right to this means of tardy vindication 
which had fallen into his hands. 

If it were his own welfare alone that was 
concerned, perhaps honour would have coun- 
selled further endurance ; but Hatton had 




assured him that the love of Clothilde still 
belonged to John Brownlow. Was she, too, 
to be sacrificed ? Let the issues of this 
crisis be worked out ; for the present, he 
would retain the proofs of his position. 

His letter to Clothilde was sent by the 
first post, and after the hour at which he 
calculated it would be delivered in town, he 
watched in anxious expectation for a telegram. 
None came; the afternoon wore into evening; 
the sick man grew restless and feverish, ask- 
ing constantly for news. 

Winterden could not keep away from the 
room ; he felt drawn by a sort of fascination 
to the presence of the man who had wronged 
him, and who, to satisfy the cravings of his 
self-love, was ready to die with a lie upon his 
soul. Such a nature was to him a curious 
study, and in its presence he felt he could 
better estimate his own possible lines of 
action. Could he pierce the soul of this poor 
weakling in the hour of parting, or should he 
let him play out his pitiful part to the end, 
and unfold the truth to Clothilde across a 
dead body ? 

Either alternative was sufficiently painful. 
How would she regard an explanation vouched 
for by a confession stolen from the dead ? 
Although he had long ceased to blame her, 
he could not help realizing now what infinite 
pain might have been spared by a more 
perfect trust. 

As a third and last course, was he to allow 
things to drift, keep silence, and bear the 
odium of another man's wrong-doing, and her 
condemnation, until the end ? 

He looked out the trains, and saw that it 
was possible she might arrive about nine 
o'clock ; the letter might not have reached 
her immediately. Then he busied himself in 
making preparations for her comfort. He 
could not think, provided she was in town, 
that she would risk the delay of a night. 
Hatton had changed rapidly during the last 
twenty-four hours ; it was doubtful whether 
the morning would find him conscious. 

It was nearly ten o'clock when he was told 
that Mrs. D'Alton had arrived, and would 
like to see him. He found her, already 
divested of her bonnet and travelling cloak, 
awaiting him in the room he had engaged for 
her. She was standing near the fire, a tall, 
straight figure, clad simply in a dark gown. 
Any awkwardness that he might have feared, 
or any hopes he had entertained from the 
meeting, were at once set aside as she came 
forward a few paces to greet him. She was 
perfectly self-possessed, and had entirely taken 
the position into her own hands. 

by Google 

" I have to thank you, Mr. Winterden, for 
sending for me, and for making the necessary 
arrangements for my comfort. I left town 
immediately I received your letter. I am 
not too late ? " 

" No ; Mr. Hatton is still conscious, but 
you must be prepared ; he has sunk very 
rapidly during the day." 

11 Shall I go to him at once ? " 

" If you wish it, but ought you not to rest, 
to take some refreshment ? " 

" I feel neither tired nor hungry. I should 
like to see him as soon as possible." 

" If you will allow me, I will take you to 
his room." 

He had a strong wish that they three 
should meet face to face ; to see if any idea, 
any consciousness of the truth would force 
itself upon either of the two others con- 

She hesitated — 

" I am giving you a great deal of trouble. 
Is there nc one else ? " 

"Only the nurse. If you will allow me, 
it is no trouble. I am constantly with him : I 
left him, in fact, to tome to you." 

She signed her assent, and he led the way 
with a somewhat elaborate exaggeration of 
the cold politeness of her manner. The 
irony of the situation supplied him with a 
cynicism which no suffering had hkherto 
been able to evoke. He saw her stand 
beside the dying bed of Julius Hatton, And 
take the wasted hand in hers, while a smile 
of boyish gladness stole over the sick man's 

"You have come — thank you — and not, 
as I dreamed, in anger. Now I shall carry 
the memory of your sweetness through 

She sat down beside him, and, his hand 
still in hers, he seemed to sleep. Winterden 
stole out of the room. When he returned 
an hour later she was still there ; Hatton had 
hardly moved. 

" It is time you went to rest," he said, with 
some authority. "Can you withdraw your 
hand without disturbing him ? " 

" Thank you, I will remain. He is sleep- 
ing so quietly." 

" He might drift away in that sleep," he 

"Then I shall be with him to the last. 
You do not understand. I feel I have 
wronged him. It is not much to make this 
small atonement" 

" You — wronged Aim I " 

"Yes, I was glad of his sympathy; his half 
boyish enthusiasm comforted me. Then he 




gave me his love, and I, having nothing to 
offer in return, threw it aside," 

"And now?" 

11 And now — I love him — I am so sorry 
for him/* she said, simply. 

" And you have no pity for me ? You 
still believe that I did that thing ? M 

— you look worn out," she said, with a sudden 
access of womanly pity, 

Hatton was watching them ; he made a 
sign for Winterden to approach. 


" You have never shown me that you did 
not," she said, uneasily, " I told Julius the 
whole story. He agreed with me that the 
facts seemed beyond doubL But he saw, or 
fancied that he saw, that I had not forgotten 
you, and so, through you, 1 have lost him also. 
You have robbed me of everything." 

Hatton moved, and opened wide the 
grey eyes in which vision seemed already 
growing dim. They travelled restlessly from 
one to the other of the two faces at his side, 
and he appeared anxious to speak. Clothilde 
leaned down towards him, but at that moment 
the doctor entered to pay a final visit, and 
the words were left unsaid, 

" He may last till the morning," was the 
verdict given to Winterden in the corridor a 
quarter of an hour later. " He is conscious 
now, but if there are any further requests or 
wishes to be attended to " 

Winterden went back to the room and 
whispered this report to Mrs. D'Alton. The 
tears rose to her eyes* 

" How thankful I am that I did not delay 
— at least, now, I can remain with him to the 
end." Then she caught sight of Winterden's 
face. It looked almost more drawn and 
haggard than that upon the bed* " But you 

Digitized by Gt 

" Good night, John," 

Winterden hesitated a moment ; then laid 
his hand upon the feeble one that was 
carrying his life in its grasp. The eyes of 
the two men met, in quick revelation, almost 
mutual prayer — and Winterden gathered that 
Hatton knew 1 - him and still trusted to his for- 
bearance. So he read that last look. 

He turned away in silence and went to his 
own room. There he put the leaves of the 
diary upon the fire, and pressed them down 
among the embers, till nothing of the paper 
remained but a few black ashes ; then he lay 
down upon his bed ; and, after a time, fell 
asleep, for he was physically, as well as 
menially, wearied. 

About six o'clock the nurse came to 
his door with a message. Hatton was 
dead : he had passed away in sleep quite 

A few hours later, Winterden sent a note 
to Clothilde to inquire if he could be of any 
further service. The answer was that she 
intended returning to town by the twelve 
o'clock train, but would he speak with her 
first ? He went at once. She met him, he 
thought, with a little more kindliness ; and 
this he attributed to the presence of death. 




Her face showed signs of tears. They spoke 
quietly about the needful arrangements, and 
she expressed a wish to put a small stone 
cross upon the grave. Winterden promised 
to give the order. 

" When you return to town, will you come 
and see me and tell me about it ? " she said. 

" I am thinking of going abroad again, but 
I will write." 

"As you will ; but I wish to say that I 
regret having spoken so harshly last night 
The irrevoeableness of death makes one 
feel that one 
should be more 
gentle in one's 
Could we not be 
friends ? " 

11 That is im- 
possible. You 
require proofs, 
and I have none 
to give. Doubt 
is incompatible 
with friendship." 

u Yet promise 
me that you 
will not leave 
England with- 
out communicat- 
ing with me," 

"1 will^ittend 
to your wishes 
about the grave, 
and write to 

turned away. 

All these 
months she had 
been learning 
that doubt, if in- 
compatible with 
friendship, is not 
always incom- 
patible with love, 
An hour later 
she had left for 

town ; but Winterden remained to see that 
the last rites were decently rendered to 
Julius Hatton, and to arrange for the carry- 
ing-out of Clothilde's wish with regard to 
his grave. He told himself that he did 
this merely because he would have been 
ashamed of the heartlt-ssness and cruelty 
implied by a different course. 

He found that there was money in hand 
sufficient for the needful expenses ; the 
balance* a very small sum 3 went, together 

HE i*UT J HE lIlAVES op the diary upon the fire. 

by LiOOglC 

with the personal effects of the dead man, to 
his heir-at-law, the brother in India of whom 
he had spoken as his sole near relation* 

So soon as he was free, John Winterden 
started for Algiers ; he spent nearly fifteen 
months in wandering, but the spring of the 
second year after Hat ton's death found him 
again in London, 

The question of the memorial cross once 
settled, there had been no further intercourse 
between himself and Clothilde d'Alton j but 
he heard of her occasionally, knew that she 

w F as still unmar- 
ried, and longed 
intensely to see 
her again. Still, 
* he told himself 
that unless her 
heart prompted 
his full and un- 
questioned ac- 
quittal, they 
must meet as 
co mparati ve 

He had been 
in town about a 
fortnight, w T hen 
he was startled 
to see in the 
papers the an- 
nouncement of a 
new work by the 
author of "Tried 
in the Furnace," 
To whom could 
this posthumous 
production of 
Julius Hat ton's 
writings be due ? 
Possiblv he had 
left MSS, in the 
hands of his pub- 
lishers at the 
time of his 
death, which 
were only now 
given to the 
world. In that case, unless the embargo of 
secrecy were removed, this stirring of the 
memory of a half-forgotten scandal was hardly 
likely to benefit his, John Winterden's, 

He bought a copy of the book, and found 
it inferior in matter and style; it struck him 
as juvenile work resuscitated, and likely 
rather to damage the memory of the author 
than otherwise. The reviews were not yet 

Original from 




Within the week he met Mrs. D'Alton at 
dinner, their first encounter since his return. 
He scarcely saw her, however, until they 
were seated at the table. The party was a 
large one, and he arrived rather late. Then, 
however, he found that she occupied the 
place almost opposite his own, and that she 
had been assigned to the care of a man 
whose face seemed strangely familiar, although 
he could not at the moment recall the place 
or manner of their meeting. The stranger 
had the look of a soldier, recently returned 
from foreign service. Mrs. D'Alton seemed 
deeply interested in his conversation, and 
scarcely aware of Winterden's presence, who 
covertly watching the pair became gradually 
conscious that the haunting familiarity of the 
man's face was due to a certain likeness of 
feature and expression to Julius Hatton, 
oddly disguised by a long moustache. 

During the second course one of those in- 
explicable pauses occurred which leave to 
one unfortunate speaker the attention of the 
whole table. 

" by the author of i Tried in 

the Furnace ' : who can it be ? " 

These were the words that fell upon the 
silence. Evidently the matter under discus- 
sion had been the authorship of Julius 
Hatton's last book. One or two persons at 
the table knew the subject to be an awkward 
one in the presence of Mrs. D'Alton, and 
would have rushed in to cover the mishap, 
but her neighbour leaned forward and spoke 

" Don't you know ? " he said. " Why, my 
brother, Julius Hatton, wrote that book ; it's 
hard he shouldn't have some of the fame now 
he's dead, poor fellow. He was too modest, I 
suppose, in his life." 

People at the other end of the table tried 
to talk hurriedly, the hostess turned to her 
neighbour with a remark upon a new play, 
but in the immediate group round the speaker 
there was still silence. 

" I was in India, you know," went on 
Colonel Hatton, turning innocently to Mrs. 
D'Alton ; " in fact, I should not have returned 
now but for being invalided, and I only 
discovered the poor lad's secret by some 
shorthand notes, verbatim of the most telling 
parts of the book, which I found in an old 
box of MSS. Then I had an interview with 
the publishers, who confirmed my suspicions. 
There is no doubt, but I wonder he did not 
tell you" he added, in a lower tone. 

The buzz of general conversation had re- 
commenced before the sentence was con- 
cluded. Winterden could scarcely catch the 

Vol. ix. -40. 

last words, but Clothilde's face had grown 
white as the damask upon which her eyes 
were fixed as though she would never again 
dare to raise them. Fearful of adding to her 
embarrassment, he hardly dared again to 
glance in .her direction during dinner, and 
when, later, he entered the drawing-room, she 
was on the point of leaving. She held out 
her hand to him as she passed : — 

" Will you come to see me to-morrow ? I 
shall be at home till luncheon." Her eyes 
were almost imploring. 

" Most certainly I will." 

The hours that intervened before he could 
carry out his promise dragged slowly for John 
Winterden ; being spent chiefly in utterly 
futile speculation. 

How would Clothilde receive him— what 
was her object in asking him to come? 
Would she hold him finally acquitted without 
further explanation, or did she want merely 
to question him? Surely, she could hardly 
suspect him of deeper complicity in this 
miserable affair. 

He arrived at the house in Cadogan Square 
about noon, and on being announced found 
her standing near the middle of the room, 
evidently expectant. He guessed that she 
had been pacing the length of it, as was her 
habit when excited or restless ; her im- 
petuosity was not yet cured. 

It was not, however, until they were both 
seated that she found words for the question 
uppermost in her mind. 

" You heard what Colonel Hatton said last 
night ? " 

" I did." 

" Was it news to you ? " 

" No. I had been aware of it for some 

" Since when ? Do you mind telling me ? " 

" Since the night on which I wrote for you 
to come to Brighton." 

"Well, I have something to tell you. 
Julius Hatton asked me, that last night, if 
you, John Winterden, were the Jack Brown- 
low I used to speak of. He overheard us 

" Yes, and what then?" 

" He became terribly agitated, evidently he 
had no idea of your identity. Later on, he 
seemed anxious to tell me something, but 
he could not make me understand. It was 
such a little while before the end. I think 
now that he wanted to repair the wrong he 
had done you, for I gather that you and he 
had never met, never had any intercourse, 
until you met at Brighton." 

"Nevei^'-l 11 had never heard of Julius 




Hat ton until I heard of him as engaged 

to you," 

" How, then" — their eyes met — "how, 

then, did he read my letters ? " she said, 

below her breath* 

" Are you sure that he did road them ? " 
" Would you have me believe that the 

whole thing was a coincidence ? " 

" I cannot say what I would have you 

believe, except that I had nothing to do 

with it," 

" But you know the truth ? 7I 

He shifted his position uneasily* 

" You have known it ever since that night ? if 

Still he did not answer. 

She looked at him for a moment, steadily, 
wonderingly ; then she crossed the room and 
laid her hand upon his arm, 


He looked up at her. 

u Of what use is it?" he said; "he is 

" How can I ever forgive myself? " 

" Don't try, dear ; let us forget all about it. 
Will you have your ring back ? I have 
brought it in the hope J1 

She let him take in his the hand that had 
rested upon his arm. 

by Google 

Original from 

How Explosives are Made. 

By William G. FitzGerald, 

N writing 

to a Government 
Department for assistance in 
literary matters, there is a 
delightful uncertainty. You 
may be refused — let down 
gently, it is true— but still 
refused. The refusal, on the other hand, 
may be chilling, or even severely aggressive. 
If the reply is none of these, it surely 
contains official assent — formal, gracious, 
comprehensive. Such was the letter sent by 
Dr, W. Anderson, Her Majesty's Director- 
General of Ordmnce Factories, in answer to 
our application fur official permission to visit 
the famous Royal Gunpowder Factory, whose 
main gate is almost 
under the shadow of 
the ugly Norman 
tower of Waltham 

Here, indeed, is 
the most extra- 
ordinary factory in 
the world. Factory 
is quite a misnomer 
applied to this lovely 
and picturesque 
domain. The estab- 
lishment consists of 
about four hundred 
acres of wooded land, 
intersected by four 
miles of crystal 
streams, which would 
fill the angler's heart 
with delight. 

As a matter of fact, 
the place was bought 
by the Government, 
in 1787, from John 
Walton, a direct de- 
scendant of the im- 
mortal Izaak ; and 
the name of the 

former may yet be seen inscribed on a sun- 
dial in the quadrangle near the office of the 
superintendent, Colonel Ormsby* This sun- 
dial, by the way, is robbed of much of its 
quaint and picturesque nature by eight big 
shells, which are symmetrically arranged 
about the base, and which, we need hardly 
say, are not described in any work on con- 

It goes without saying that Waltham has its 
stirring and exciting moments. Quite apart 
from the fact that the vast powder factory is, 
to put it mildly, a continual menace to the 
local public peace, there are a surprising 
number of streams about the place, which 
overflow in winter, and occasionally compel 
the inhabitants to go a-punting down High 
Bridge Street. 

Nevertheless, Waltham is a pretty town ; 
and, as one turns off from the main street 
into the lane leading to the principal entrance 
of the factory, one cannot help admiring the 
pastoral scenes of woodland and meadow, 
which render it difficult to believe that the 

most dangerous in- 
dustry in the world 
is carried on within 
a few hundred yards, 
Passing !n at the gate 
we beheld an avenue 
of stately poplars, at 
the end of which the 
Union jack floated 
proudly from a flag- 
staff. This gave rise 
to a train of thought 
from which we were 
rudely aroused by a 
sharp challenge from 
the inspector of police. 
We were then re- 
quested to enter the 
police quarters, where 
we were plied with 
questions as to our 
business, and whether 
we possessed any 
matches, pipes, or 
steel implements. 
Then we turned out 
our pockets, just as 
Lord Sandhurst had 
to do when he 
visited the factory for the purpose of opening 
the hospital. In fact, all comers, from the 
Prince of Wales down to the humblest factory 
lad, are interrogated by the polite at the gate 
with a strict regard for duty that reminded us 
o f cer ta i n a need ot es in our school-books. 
Our illustration (No, 1) shows one of the 
sergeants of police searching the men at the 
main gate* 




The gallant colonel assured us that the 
way was long, and therefore it would be 
better for us to set off on our personally 
conducted tour at once. He was right The 
buildings seemed to he scattered far and 
wide, as though it were the primary intention 
of the authorities to occupy every available 
square foot of land We walked miles; we 
plunged into thickets, crossed innumerable 
streams, and occasionally glided from one 
building to another in a swift electric launch, 
the panting of whose screw scared 
the birds and rabbits that abound 
in this extraordinary place. 

But we must commence ah initio. 
The first place we visited — and we 
were calm and appreciative then, 
not knowing the extent of the 
appalling task that lay before us - 
was the saltpetre refinery shown in 
No. 2. To the right in the photo- 
graph is Mr. Knowler, the u father 
of the factory," as he is called from 
the fact of his forty-three years 1 
service. The saltpetre comes from 
Seinde in bags of icolb., and in 
this state it contains about 5 per 
cent, of impurities. It is dissolved 
in large quantities in water heated 
to 230 degrees, and, after careful skim- 
ming, the solution is pumped into the 
coolers shown in No. 2. The saltpetre crystal- 
lizes in these coolers, and is then raked from 
the bottom in the form of wet snow, which is 
piled up, and subset juently undergoes a wash- 

ing process by means of a continuous stream 
of water. There are four refining coppers 
and seven evaporating pots in the refining- 
room* The saltpetre is ultimately sent to the 
mixing -house in barrels, with a certificate 
showing that it contains between 3 and 6 
per cent, of water The saltpetre refuse is 
bought by farmers for from 8s. to 12s, per 
ton. We next called at the sulphur refinery 
(lllus. No. 3), but found it almost impossible 
to breathe within its evil-smelling precincts. 


NO, 3-— uri- srr.i-HL'K kkfuhlry. 

As regards the worthy man we found there, he 
was as unconcerned as though he were in- 
haling the ozone on Brighton Pier ; more, he 
proceeded to give us, out of the fulness of 
his twenty-six years' experience, a few details 
concerning his own department in quite a 

graphic manner. 
Six hundredweight 
and a half of 
Sicilian sulphur is 
shot into the retort, 
seen to the right 
in the picture, and 
after it has re- 
mai n e d th ere about 
three hours it 
passes in vapour 
from the retort, 
through cold-water 
jacketed pipes, into 
the receiving-pot, 
where it arrives in 
a treacly 'mass. 
Our friend is seen 
ladling this viscous 
matter into the 
casting tubs, in 
which it is left for 
about eighteen 
nhours. Next morn- 




ing these tubs are emptied, and out of each 
comes two hundredweight of purified sulphur, 
which resembles a monstrous custard. This 
also goes to the mixing-room, after having 
been ground in the sulphur mill. 

There remains 
one other con- 
stituent of powder 
to be investigated 
— namely, char- 
coal. YVhy, we 
asked, are there 
such extensive 
groves and forests 
of wallow, dug- 
wood, and alder 
within the bound- 
aries of this 
strangest of fac- 
tories? One reason 
is that the wood is 
converted into 
charcoal; and an- 
other, that a dense 
growth of trees 
serves to locate the 
effects of a possible 

No. 4 is a view 
of the wood stacks, many of which are from 
three to ten years old. 

Now let us see what these workmen are 
going to do with the seasoned branches they 
are loading on to the trolley. 

No. 5 is a view of the charcoal room. 
The wood is placed in (he cylindrical 

drums, and the latter are then run into 
furnaces shaped to receive them, by means 
of travelling cranes. After from three to 
eight hours of very great heat, during which 
time the very gases from the burning wood 



are utilized as fuel in the furnace below, the 
drums are withdrawn and their contents shot 
into air-tight iron vessels to cool for four 
hours. The charcoal is subsequently removed 
to smaller coolers, where it remains another 
twelve hours, after which it is taken by boat 
to the store. Here it remains for a day or 

two before being 
picked over by 
hand, in order to 
see that there are 
no nails or pieces 
of iron in it. The 
responsibility of 
this last-mentioned 
work may be 
judged when we 
state that, if the 
smallest particle 
of gritty matter of 
any sort is inad- 
vertently passed 
over, it infallible 
means an awful 
explosion and cer- 
tain loss of life. 

The sulphur is 
ground so as to 
pass through a 
sieve having 36 




openings to the square inch ; the charcoal 
is passed through a mesh 32 to the inch. 
Now we are ready for the mixing -room. 
Of this strange place it was impossible to 
obtain a photograph, owing to the dark- 
ness that prevailed. Grimy men flitted 
through an almost tangible gloom ; and in 
one corner an expert was weighing up the 
saltpetre, sulphur, and charcoal in parts of 

which revolve two enormous wheels, each 
weighing four tons* 

Into this bed is shot the contents of the 
half-charge sack brought from the mixing- 
house, A wooden "plough" is then fixed 
from the centre, so as to keep the powder 
continually under the rollers, and then all is 
ready for starting the machinery. Even in 
this stage the mixture is highly inflammable, 
and therein lies the rais&n 
d'etre of the " flash-board,' 1 
which is seen over the bed. 
In the event of an ex* 
^^ plosion, either through the 
^^j wheels meeting with gritty 

particles in the mixture, or 
from other causes, this 
board would be violently 
thrown upwards on hinges, 
and in its descent back- 
wards would automatically 
overturn tanks of water, not 
merely on to its own bed, 
but also on the beds of its 
working neighbours, who 
might otherwise be tempted 
to join in the riot 

Indeed, the risk is so 
great, that in order to 


75, io, and 15 respectively. For powder for 
big guns, however, the proportions are 79, 
3, and 18. These constituents were shot 
into a revolving drum fitted with blades 
inside. The mixture is afterwards packed in 
half-charge sacks of 6olb. and sent to the 
incorporating mill- the first of the " danger 

In No, 6 is shown a set of incorporating 
mills, which are built in groups of six, and 
are worked by independent machinery. Ex- 
cept for the division walls, these mills are 
constructed of the flimsiest material possible, 
the roof being of wood, and the fronts 
of canvas, buttoned on to a slight iron 
framework ; this is in order that no resistance 
may be offered to a possible explosion. It 
will be noticed that the arms of the danger 
signals are raised, in order to show that the 
mills are working; when these signals are up, 
no barrow or truck-load of powder, in any 
stage whatsoever, is allowed to pass bv the 
mills. Yet the interior of any one of the 
incorporating mills is not calculated to strike 
awe or terror into the heart of the visitor. 
As will be seen from No. 7, there is nothing 
in the place but a big, circular iron bed, round 





start the incorporating mill, the operator 
prudently draws down the flaps of his cloth 
helmet, puts on his gauntlets, and retires 
outside, as is shown in No. 8. The man is 


clothed in a suit of " Lasting "—that curious 
leathery material affected by the London 
apprentices in the days of Queen Elizabeth. 
There are no pockets in 
this suit, and the buttons 
are of bone ; no powder 
adheres to this material. 
The men are even for- 
bidden to cultivate long 
beards, lest perhaps these 
hirsute appendages should 
contain particles of grit, 
harmless enough in them- 
selves, but more deadly 
than cholera bacilli when 
introduced into a powder 

After being three and a 
half hours beneath the in- 
corporating rollers, the mix- 
ture becomes u mill -cake," 
and is removed in covered 
trucks to the breaking-down 
house. This building, in 
common with most of the other danger 
buildings, is lighted at night by electric 
lamps, immersed in water, and placed 
outside the windows. In the breaking- 

down house the mill-cake is piaced in a 
hopper, drawn up on an endless band, and 
crushed into meal powder by two pairs of 
gun-metal rollers. Only twelve charges of 
130IU each are allowed in this house at one 

The next department is the press-house, 
an exterior view of which is shown in No. 9. 
The machine-house is on the left, and the 
men's retiring-room on the right. Between 
these two buildings is placed the " traverse," 
a mighty mass of masonry, concrete, and 
earth, which is intended to protect the 
workmen ; these latter are compelled to 
remain in the lobbies while the machinery is 
in motion. In the press-house one of the 
most dangerous operations takes place. 
Copper plates are fixed in a rack in a huge 
iron box, and about 75olb* of meal powder 
is strewn between them. A hydraulic ram of 
from 63 to 500 tons pressure is then brought 
to bear upon the plates for half an hour, 
during which time the men are congregated 
in the shoe-room on the other side of the 
traverse. It is no exaggeration to say that 
there is an awful uncertainty about this 

A hell rings when the pressure gauge 
reaches a certain point, and the men then 
return to the machine room and remove the 
^press-cake," as it is now called, from the 
plates. The regulations caution the men 
against " undue haste " in removing the cake, 
and the authorities have thoughtfully provided 

In the breakir 


deep wells outride each danger building, into 
which men who have been badly burnt may 
plunge. No more than goolb, of powder 
may be K^pigiiftaltbe jjress-house at one 




time. No. 9 also shows a covered powder boat 
on the left. There are thirty-six of these boats 
altogether, and no one is allowed to go over 
a bridge while one of them is passing beneath, 
lest any dirt or grit should fall upon the 
immaculate deck, 

The press-house is 
the parting of the ways, 
so to speak, of the 
various kinds of 
powder, which are 
made from press-cake 
treated in different 
ways. For pebble 
powder the press-cake 

which, by the way, 
resembles thick black 
slate— is cut into strips, 
and these strips are 
further eut into u fa 
cubes*" The rest of 
the cake is reduced 
to coarse powder by 
three pairs of gradu- 
ated rollers. 

All sorts of fear- 
some notices and cau- 
tions abound in the 
retiring-room of the 
press-house, which is 
depicted in No, 10. A 
rigorous line of demarcation is formed by an 
upright board j before passing which every 
visitor, from the Government inspector down- 
wards, is compelled to put on a pair of enor- 
mous boots over his own. In No, 10 the chief 
foreman is seen 
undergoing this 
operation, This 
precaution is taken 
in order that no 
gritty particles may 
be introduced on 
to the soft leather 
fioor of the danger 
buildings. Having 
put on these boots, 
you shuffle shame- 
facedly round the 
traverse to the 
machine -room. We 
say shamefacedly 
advisedly, for we 
defy any man to 
walk a dozen yards 
in these safety- 
boots and yet 
maintain a sem- 
blance of dignity. 


The glazed and granulated powder (the 
dust from which has been removed by 
another process and sent back to the incor- 
porating mills) is now ready for moulding 
into prisms for the built-up charges used in 

big guns. The in- 
terior of the moulding- 
room is shown in No. 
ii« Coarse -grained 
powder is fed into 
the compartments of 
the wheeled tray to 
the right, and it is 
then pushed under 
the hydraulic press, 
which has correspond- 
ing plungers, The 
hexagonal prisms 
emerge in batches of 
sixty-lour, or 13,000 
per day. To the left 
in our photograph 
(No. 11) a skilled 
workman is seen 
weighing a specimen 
from each batch in air 
and mercury. And i4 if 
the scale do turn (liter- 
ally) but in the esti- 
mation of a hair/ J the 
whole batch isrejected. 
In the dry ing-ruoms, ordinary grain powder 
is left for from one to three hours ; pebble 
powder, however, takes from twenty- four to 
forty hours to dry, and S.B.C (" slow burning 
cocoa "), for 1 ro-ton guns, about sixty hours. 

by Google 

wa it 




NO- T3.— A row PC K flAHGE. 

The last -mentioned powder is proved in 
1 tin. guns with a charge of 36olb,, and 
gives a muzzle velocity of from 2,010ft, to 
2,050ft, per second. Finished powder of all 

of each kind are blended so as to give uni- 
formity, and the powder is then conveyed to 
Pur fleet and Woolwich in special barges, 
which fly a red flag and can be sunk in five 
minutes. One of these craft, together with a 
typical view of the Waltham Abbey establish- 
ment, is shown in No. 12. 

Altogether there are about goo men em- 
ployed in the factory, and the annual wages 
bill comes nigh unto ^70,000* One thou- 
sand four hundred tons of saltpetre are 
stocked; 100 tons of sulphur; and enough 
wood to make 40,000 barrels of powder. 
The annual consumption of coal ranges from 
8,000 to ro,ooo tons. Very significant is the 
photograph we reproduce (No, 13), It 
shows the interior of the little hospital opened 
by Lord Sandhurst quite recently. The 
hospital stands close to one of the myriad 
streams that intersect the vast grounds of the 
factory, and is intended solely for the benefit 
of injured workmen* By the way, it seems 
strange that, in spite of innumerable pre- 
cautions and all that science can do, frightful 
explosions should take place — explosions as 
disastrous ;is they are inexplicable. Truly, 
these grave, quiet men, who are turning out 
by day and by night material for the defence 
of our country, tfc know not the dav nor the 

Let us now turn to the manufacture of 
cordite, that new and terrible explosive which 
eminent experts tell us will increase a 
hundredfold the carnage on the battle-field of 


sorts is sent to the splendidly-fitted labora- 
tory to undergo various tests ; it is then 
proved in the guns at the butts attached to 
the establishment. Finally, large quantities 

Vol. i*.^4l, 

the next European war in which we are 
engaged. The following facts attest the 
tremendous* power of this explosive: The 



service rifle is 70 
grains, and this 
gives a muzzle 
velocity of 1 , 850ft. 
per second. A 
cordite charge of 
30 grains gives a 
velocity of 2,000ft. 
Again, the ponder 
charge for the 
1 2 -pounder gun 
is 41b. , while the 
cordite charge for 
the same weapon 
is 15^0^; and 
the latter gives far 
better results. 

As cordite is 
primarily founded 
on gun-cotton, we 
first visited the 
picking - room, 
under the cour- 
teous guidance of 

Captain Nathan, the cordite superintendent 
In No, 14 the girls are seen picking over the 
cotton waste, which comes from the Man- 
chester spinning mills in hundredweight bales, 
and costs about ^3° P er ton - It will be seen 
that the connection between peaceful trade 
and this formidable explosive is as dose as it 
is curious. The stuff is picked carefully, in 
order that fragments of wood, rope, wire, and 
rag may be removed. The cotton waste is 
then thrown on to a powerful teasing machine, 
which rends and tears its fibre ; after this 




it is cut up by another machine, and 
then it passes on an endless band into a 
drying -room heated to 180 degrees. The 
cotton is then weighed up into lots of 
i/^lb-, and each lot is placed in a tin 
cooling box ; these operations are shown in 
No. 15. After twenty-four hours, the lots, or 
charges, are ready for dipping. Each dipping 
pan contains 22olb. of mixed acid — three 
parts of sulphuric and one of nitric acid 
The operator simply throws the dry cotton 
into the acid and leaves it there for about 

five minutes^ dur- 
ing which time 
each charge of 
i^lb, will have 
absorbed 13^ lb. 
of acid. 

The workman 
now takes his im- 
plements from the 
cold water in 
which they are 
kept immersed, 
for fear that re- 
peated contact 
with the acid 
should corrode 
them, and he pro- 
ceeds to remove 
the saturated 
cotton from the 
hath or pan. As 
will be seen from 
3fiF a '6, he has an 




id. — THE Dil'l 

earthenware pot ready to receive the charge. 
The earthenware vessels containing the 
charges are then allowed to stand in shallow 
water for some little time. No. 17 is a 
general view of the cooling tanks, with the 
dipping baths in the background. 

From the earthenware vessels the cotton is 
shut into a centrifugal machine, whirling round 

at a speed of 1,200 revolutions a minute. 
In a very shurt time the cotton is compara- 
tively dry ; and the waste acid removed 
by the machine is allowed for by a contractor 
The next operation is the washing of the 
cotton in a wooden tank full of water, 
which is agitated by a revolving bladed wheel 
When the foreman thinks this washing has 
gone on long enough, he tastes the cotton, 
and if no flavour of acid remains, it is taken 
out by a man who wades in in big boots. 
The water is wrung out and the cotton is 
then removed to the vat-house, where it is 
boiled in monstrous vats for four or five days, 
Each vat holds about iScwt. of cotton \ and 
the interior of this department is shown in 
No. 18, 

From the vats the long-suffering cotton 
comes out like wet oatmeal ; then comes more 
churning arid washing, until at length the 
moulding process is reached, and the cotton 
is pressed into big cubes of 2}^ lb. These 
cubes are veritable gun-cotton, and when 
pressed flat and furnished with a dry cylinder 
and a fulminate of mercury detonator, they 
are quite ready for torpedo work. The gun- 
cotton press -house, depicted in No. ig T is 
furnished with what is called a protective 
rope mantelet, or wall of rope, such as is 
used in fortifications. 

To make cordite, the dry gun-cotton is 
taken to the nitroglycerine house, a wholly ex- 
traordinary building, literally buried under a 
mound or hill, and approached by a burrow- 
like, brick-lined passage in the earth. The two 
most dangerous nitro-glyeerine houses are 





dough or paste has been in the incor- 
porating machine. Acetone is also 
added in quantities of 151b. iooz. to 
every charge of 751b. One of the final 
operations takes place in the moulding- 
house. There t^ltx of cordite paste 
is pressed and moulded ; the mould 
and its contents are then placed in 
another machine, and, to the amaze- 
ment of the onlooker, out comes 
2,000ft, of what looks like brown 
twine, with a diameter of 03 7 5 in. This 
is finished cordite, and it is wound 
upon a reel. For 6in + quick-firers, 
cordite with a diameter of -3m. is 
turned out, and as it emerges from the 
machine it is cut into 14m. lengths. 

No. 22 shows the interesting opera- 
tion of "ten-stranding." Ten reels 
of cordite, just as they come from the 
machine, are fixed in a rack (the lad 
in our illustration is about to fix the 
tenth reel) and are wound simultane- 
ously on to a single reel, the object 
being to secure uniformity of expl«- 
siveness. Furthermore, six I( ten- 
stranded n reels are afterwards wound 

shown in No. 20. Beneath the mound 
on the left is the washing-house; 
the other building to the right is 
the nitrating -house. The dry gun- 
cotton, as we have said, is taken to the 
nitro-glycerine house in boxes, and it 
is there saturated with nitro glycerine, an 
almost colourless liquid. Should a single 
drop of this fall on the leaden floor, it 
is instantly wiped up with a damp cloth. 
The saturated gun-cotton is now called 
"cordite dough,"and it is taken direct to 
the k needing- house, which is shown in 
No, 2 1, The men, as may he seen from 
the photograph, wear curious respirators 
as they bend over the sticky mass, 
which gives forth nauseous and deadly 
fumes. When thoroughly kneaded, the 
dough is sent to the incorporating- 
house and placed in drums, which 
have slow revolving screw blades ; this 
mixing process goes on for seven hours. 
The component parts of cordite, by the 
Wfty, are as follows: nitro-glycerine 57 
parts, gun-cotton 38 parts, and five 
parts of mineral jelly, this latter being 
added three and a half hours after the 


no. t^^^fcQbyi&h^rftggkTJious 



3 1 ? 

upon one, and the 
( * sixty-stranded " 
reel is then ready 
to be sent away. 
Minute details as 
to whose hands 
it has passed 
through accom- 
pany each reel; 
and the end of 
the thread is 
secured with a 
band of webbing. 
Ultimately, the 
cordite is cut into 
little bits and made into bundles for the 
cartridge cases, but this work is not done at 

A pool adjoining the cordite works is 


accumulated in 
the pool that, 
when it came to 
be blown up, the 
result was really 
startling. Colonel 
Ormsby, the 
general superin- 
tendent of the 
works t has lent 
us, for reproduc- 
tion, a photo- 
graph (No. 24) 
taken imme- 
diately after this 
particular blowing-up. A glance will reveal 
the tremendous force of the explosion, which 
blew holes 20ft deep around the pond. 
The testing armoury and proof range arc 
at Quinton Hill, but are 
within the boundaries of 
the factory. It is most in- 
teresting to behold the array 
of field artillery and naval 
quick-firers, all clean and 
bright and with a business- 
like ap[3caranee. On the 
occasion of our visit, a 
6in. quick-firing gun was 
mounted in a sort of ca%-e 
formed of earth and masonry 
so as to minimize danger 
in case of the weapon 
bursting. Remember, the 
powder is being tested, and 
no one knows what may 
happen. When the gun is 
ready to be fired, every 
person leaves the vicinity; 

shown in No. 23, Into this 
pool all water from the vari- 
ous nitro-glycerine houses is 
most carefully drained, 
since such water contains 
a certain quantity of nitro- 
glycerine. Every Saturday 
this extraordinary pond is 
blown up by means of a 
dynamite cartridge, in order 
to get rid of the explosive 
matter it contains, After 
the terrible explosion in 
the nitro-glycerine house, 
on the 7 th of May, 1894, 
when four men were blown 
to pieces, such a large 
quantity of nitroglycerine 

Digitized by V^iOOSK 


3 l8 



the electric switch is moved in the instrument- 
room some distance away, and with a terrific 
roar, accentuated by the confined space, 
the gun hurls its projectile 17ft into the 
sand of the distant butt A blank cartridge, 
by the way, is first fired so as to warm the 
gun. Standing here, listening to the roar of 
the Walth.i m quick-firers* which is answered by 
the sharp, crack- 
ling fusillade from 
the Maxims at the 
Enfield Small 
Arms Factory 
close by, it is not 
difficult to imagine 
that a modern 
battle is in pro- 

The Royal Gun- 
powder Factory 
tons of cordite 
and 5 3 ooo,ooolb + 
of black powder 
every year, though 
the output varies 
according to 
orders received. 
For our own pan, 
we would far 
sooner work in the 
cordite factory 
than in the powder 
mills, for once the 
dough is mixed, 
cordite is abso- 

lutely safe to handle ; in- 
deed, you might hold a 
piece of it to a lighted 
match without causing any 
excitement: it would 
simply burn 

When we had concluded 
our tour of inspection, twi- 
light was falling upon the 
woods and streams of this 
strange place. Night-watch- 
men, armed with wonderful 
little electric hand lamps, 
flitted mysteriously here 
and there, and the electric 
lights immersed in water 
outside the windows of the 
danger buildings began to 
glow softly. We passed 
the explosive pond with 
a shudder of nervous ap- 
prehension, and left behind, as speedily as 
possible, the buried nitra ting-house, wherein 
scarlet-clad men were manipulating the 
terrible liquid. The tremendous energy that 
lay dormant in every building oppressed us t 
even though that energy slept behind massive 
traverses and walls 10ft. thick; so we came 


by Google 

Original from 

Journeyhigs of the Judges. 

By "Kasomo; 

IRCUlTINCi is popularly sup- 
posed to be akin to junketing ; 
but, as a matter ot fact, it is 
often a very serious and sober 
business - especially for the 
prisoners. There is, however, 
much in circuit life that is curious and of 
interest, especially to those to whom custom 

irnt customs 
and this is especially true in 
the remoter corners of the 
kingdom. At Oakham, for instance, the lord 
of the manor still exercises the right to 
demand from every peer passing through the 
town the near fore-shoe of his nag ; a demand 
that is usually liqui- 
dated by a money 
payment to provide 
for a counterfeit 
presentment on a 
large scale of the 
coveted shoe, 
which is in due 
course nailed on 
the wall of the old 
Shire Hall, a struc- 
ture that dates 
hack to the time 
of the Conquest. 
Even Royalty is 
not exempt from 
the toll, and the 
M horse-shoes " of 
George IV., his 
brother, the Lkike 

of York, and our own Prince of Wales figure 
on the walls in all the bravery of royal red 
and gold-leaf, 

I do not propose to weary my readers with 
a learned disquisition on the origin and pro- 
gress of circuits, Suffice it to say, and to say 
it briefly, that the circuit system, as we now 
know it, is much the same as that which 

obtained with our 
ancestors from 
almost time imme- 
morial ; and this in 
spite of constant 
attempts at reform 
by the holder spirits 
who would rule mat- 
ters judicial Let 
it be whispered that 
the reforms have 
for the most part 
proved abortive ; 
and that in all 
probability w T e shall 
revert to the wis- 
dom of our fathers, 
and to the old order 
of things. 

Let us st;irt with 
one of Her Majesty's 
judges on circuit 

Needless to say, 
we shall travel en 
prince, for the railway companies are solicitous 
for the comfort of his lordship and the mem- 
bers of his staff, and provide reserved compart- 
ments, with a separate luggage "cupboard," 


by Kj 







practically a necessity on -account of the 
enormous quantity of baggage and impedi- 
menta required for the five or six weeks 1 tour. 
Arrived at the first town on the circuit, the 
judicial campaign really begins* The judge 
is met at the railway station by the high 
sheriff of the county, who usually looks very 
uncomfortable and self-conscious in the quasi- 
military uniform which is insisted upon for 
the occasion ; the sheriff's chaplain, also in 
like plight in the stiffest of Geneva gowns, 
usually the gift of the sheriff; the under- 
sheriff, in any costume that his fancy may 

the State carriage, and the whole party set 
off at a snail's pace for the judges lodgings, 
the trumpeters fanfaring with a vigour 
and persistence that must have inspired 
the bandsmen of " General " Booth's lads 
in red. On the occasion of the trial of an 
election petition at a cathedral city, the mayor 
met the judges in a coach drawn by a couple 
of black horses that usually figured at funerals, 
and the secret of their vocation had some- 
how leaked out. As they were crawling along 
in the accustomed style, Mr. justice Hawkins, 
who was one of the judges, said, with the 

lightly turn to, ranging from a Court quiet, incisive humour that has ever dis- 

suit down to the most unconventional of 
morning dress ; and a posse comitates, in the 
shape of a dozen or so of stalwart county 
policemen, whose 
faces and uniforms 
are mostly a har- 
mony of red and 
blue. The judge 
introduces his 
marshal {an able- 
bodied youth from 
one of the Universi- 
ties, or maybe a 
budding Templar) 
to the high sheriff, 
who bows gra- 
ciously, tries not to 
fall over his sword, 
and leads the way 
to the State car- 
riage* accompanied 
by the chaplain and 
under-sheriff, and 
escorted by the 
good men in blue. 
At one or two assize 
towns there is an 
escort of "javelin 

men," armed with halberds raked up from 
the county museum probably, and attired in 
a hybrid livery, half (t beef-eater " and half 
footman ; but, generally speaking, the county 
police constitute the escort, with occasional 
relief in the form of a troop of Yeomanry, 
if the high sheriff happens to hold Her 
Majesty's commission of arms in addition 
to one of the peace. 

As soon as the little procession emerges 
from the railway station, a couple of 
trumpeters, who have taken up a command- 
ing position in the yard for the due display 
of their gorgeous liveries, set up an ear- 
torturing performance, supposed to be in 
imitation of an ancient fanfare. To this 
"rough music " the judge takes his seat in 

Digitized by "GOOglC 

tinguished him : * l Mr. Mayor, does not this 
very much remind you of following the dear 
departed ? ' s Curtain. 








BSkJk w 





The judge's lodgings are usually a fine 
old house set apart for the purpose, with 
occasional intervening visitations from Militia 
officers during the training of their merry 
men, and everything therein is of the stately 
order: though the furnishing and general 
fitment would probably vex the soul of a 
Maple or a Shoolhred. Bare walls glower 
on the judge, fresh from his own ornate house 
in Mayfair, Kensington, or Richmond; but 
there is an air of solid comfort about these 
old places, more particularly in the dining- 
room, where massive silver and table equip- 
age of great antiquity make a brave show- 
Arrived at his temporary home, the judge 
of assize forthwith arravs himself in the 
splendid rn i k^ a itt'al "/TOm^'" 1 °^ ce * ant ^ 




proceeds to the cathedral or parish church, as 
the case may be, to attend the customary 
assize service. This is an institution honoured 
by time, but usually dishonoured by the 
townspeople : for there are seldom more than 
two or three 
gathered together 
to hear the words 
of wisdom and 
counsel that fall 
from the lips of 
the sheriff's chap- 
lain, who has pro- 
bably spent 
anxious weeks in 
the preparation of 
his sermon. 
Preachers vary as 
ordinary mortals 
van', and so do 
assize sermons. 
Sometimes tht_'y 
are brilliant, force- 
ful, and in every 
way worthy of a 
better fate than to 
be forgotten by the 
handful of people, 
great and small, 
to whom they are 

Vol ix. 42, 

The next morning the 
business of the assize 
logins in real earnest, and 
the grand jury, consisting 
usually of magistrates of 
experience, are summoned 
from all parts of the county 
to consider the bills of 
indictment that are sent 
up to than by the Crown. 
Twenty-three is the regu- 
lation number of grand 
jurors for an assize, and to 
the credit of the squire- 
archy be it recorded that 
it seldom happens that 
fewer than the twenty-three 
put in an appearance. The 
roll having been called, the 
grand jury are sworn by 
the judge's marshal ; the 
foreman, usually a county 
magnate of the first rank, 
being sworn first. The 
prescribed oath is impres- 
sive, and I give it for 
the benefit of my lay 
readers : — 
4i My Lord [or Sir],— 

" You as foreman of this grand 
inquest for our Sovereign lady the Queen, 
and the body of this County of Westcum- 
land, shall diligently inquire and true pre- 

by V^ 







sentment make of all such matters, offences, 
and things as shall be brought to your notice 
touching this present service, The Queen's 
counsel, your fellows and your own, you shall 
observe and keep secret* Yon shall present no 
person out of envy, hatred, or malice ; neither 
shall you leave any one un presented through 
fear, favour, gain, reward, or the hope or 
promise thereof. But you shall present all 
things indifferently as they shall come to 
your knowledge, according to the best of 
your skill and understanding.— So help you 

The rest of the grand jury are then sworn 
shortly in hatches. 

Now commences the charge by the judge, 
who touches upon the salient points of the 
more important or complicated cases in the 
calendar, for the guidance of the grand jury 
when they come to consider whether or not a 
prima -fade case is made nut against a 

Before a man can be tried for any offence, 
his case is first of all investigated before a 
Bench of magistrates, who in their discretion 
can commit a prisoner for trial before a judge 
and jury. The witnesses are bound over to 
appear at the sessions or assizes, and in due 
course give their evidence on oath before the 
grand jury, who bring their considerable 
experience to bear in determining whether 

Digitized by dOOg J C 

the case should go for trial or not. If 
they think it should, they indorse the indict- 
ment : " A true bill," and the parchment is 
handed down to the Court* The prisoner 
is then placed in the dock, and the indict- 
ment having been read over to him more or 
less intelligibly by the clerk of assize, he is 
called upon to plead "guilty" or ■■ not 
guilty," as he may elect If the latter, the 
petit jury, consisting of twelve good men 
and true, are then sworn, and the trial 
proceeds. This threefold inquiry is a great 
safeguard to the liberty of the subject, and as 
a matter of fact, a miscarriage of justice 
seldom takes place. The "great unpaid" 
are perhaps the best-abused class in this 
country, but they do their duty as between 
the Crown and their fellow-subjects, and do 
it well, Mr, labouchere's weekly pillory in 
Truth to the contrary notwithstanding* 

If a prisoner has a good defence to the 
charge made against him, assuredly it will be 
carefully supported at the trial, Her Majesty's 
judges holding fast to the old maxim of our 
law that "every man is presumed to be 
innocent until he \% proved to be guilty/' and 
if the case against him is not proved up to 
the hilt, the man will go free : all this in 
marked contrast to the system obtaining on 
the Continent, where the unhappy wretch is 
examined r _ and; n crcss-examined by State 





officials with the express object of securing a 

Englishmen have reason to be proud of 
their judges for their absolute integrity and 
impartiality, to say nothing of their ability 
and learning, which probably speak for them- 

The comfort of a judge on circuit much 
depends on the stuff of which his staff are 
made. First comes his personal officer, the 
marshal afore-mentioned, whose duty it is to 
swear in the grand jury, and to attend the 
judge wherever 
he goes, sharing 
his mea!s with 
him in public or 
private, and 
generally making 
himself agree- 
able and useful ; 
for the most 
part a pleasant 
office enough, but 
it is one that at 
times requires 
considerable tact 
and knowledge of 
the world in order 
to keep the path 
judicial from be- 
coming too 

The k nigh t- 
errant, otherwise 
Her Majesty's 
judge of assize, 
has furthermore 
the constant 

presence of a faithful esquire in the shape of 
his clerk, who, unlike the marshal, is perma- 
nently in the judge's service, both in London 
and on circuit. The duties of this officer are 
multifarious, and range from the most deli- 
cate diplomacy down to keeping the circuit 
accounts. Divers are the duties, and diverse 
are the men, probably more so than any 
other body in the pay of the Crown, Formerly, 
some few of them rose to eminence, the late 
Lord Justice Lush being a brilliant example; 
but the Inns of Court have of late years, for 






some reason not difficult to disco ver, pro- 
hibited any person holding an appointment 
as clerk to a judge, or in the central 
office of the Supreme Court, from becoming 
a barrister-student* A hard case, probably, 
and one showing, moreover, that petty 
jealousy is not unknown even in high 

Next in importance, if not in usefulness, 
comes the eir- 
cuit hutler, 
who robes and 
valets the 
judge, con- 
trols the house- 
hold, and when 
" on the road " 
acts a s bag- 

The mar- 
shal's man fol- 
lows in order, 
and does 
duty as a sort 
of footman. 

Last, hut 
certainly not 
least, comes 
the cook* 
Formerly only 

LINCOLN— J UUCP's iircniinoM, 

B| men -cooks were 
engaged by the 
judges for cir- 
JLm cuit, as the life 

"^L was hard and the 

m work arduous ; 

but since the 
introduction of 
the single -judge 
system, that has 
excited so much 
opposition from 
profession and 
public alike, 
many of the 
judges have 
employed wo- 
men - cooks, the 
work being in 
these days much 
lighter and the 
travelling ar- 
rangements more 
comfortable, A 
good circuit 
cook must be 
possessed of considerable forethought, and 
all-round ability as a caterer. The food 
supplies of many of the assize towns are 
often very primitive, but woe betide the 
unlucky chef if he sends up an insufficient 
or an unsatisfactory meal Some of these 
Knights of the Black Cap rise to affluence 
in their profession, occasionally securing snug 
berths as cooks to the Inns of Court, be- 
sides carrying 
on businesses 
more or less 
lucrative, as 
and restaura- 
teurs. One, in 
addition to all 
this, has be- 
come a mem- 
ber of the Lon- 
don County 
Council, and in 
course of time 
may represent 
the people in 
a larger sense, 
and help to 
make the laws 
for the judges 
to administer. 

Note. My photographic readers may be interested to know thai memt of the 

" Siimutl-i" hand csuncra, many of the instantaneous pictures and interior view* being obtained on 

■'H^™' P i a «e s , Original fro 


ilstrations to this article were taken with a 
on Mes&rs, Elliott and Son's 


Stories from the Diary of a Doctor. 


Bv L- T, Meade and Clifford Halifax, M.IX 

[These stories are written in collaboration *(th A medical man of large experience. Many are rounded on fact, and all sure 
within the region of practical medical science. Those stories which may Convey an idea of the impossible are only a Forecast of an 
early realization,] 


T was a day in late October 
when I found myself in a 
train which was to convey me 
from Waterloo to Salisbury, I 
was on my way to pay a week's 
visit to my old friend and 
patient, General Romney. After retiring 
from active service he had bought a place in 
Wiltshire, and had repeatedly begged of me 
to come to see him there, 

My multifarious duties, however, had 
hitherto made it impossible for me to visit 
High Court ; but the present occasion was 
of such special moment that I determined to 
make a great effort to gratify my old friend, 
and do myself a pleasure 
at the same time, 

I was to arrive at High 
Court on Thursday after- 
noon, and on the fol- 
lowing Tuesday, Iris 
Romney, the General's 
beautiful and only 
daughter, was to be 
married to a young man 
of the name of Vane, a 
captain in the — th 
Lancers. I had known 
Iris from her childhood, 
and was prepared to con- 
gratulate her now on a 
most suitable match. 
From the letters which I 
had received from 
General Romney, Cap- 
tain Vane was all that 
was desirable : an upright, 
good, honourable fellow. 
His position in society 
was well assured, and he 
had ample means. 

"It is not only that 
Vane is all that her 
mother and I could 
desire," continued the 
General, in his last letter 
to me, "but there is another reason which 
makes this marriage a relief to our minds. 
Our poor Iris, whose beauty, as you know, 
is much above the average, has been 
persecuted for many months past by the 
unwelcome and, I may almost add, the 

Digitized by Ct< 


unscrupulous attentions of our next-door 
neighbour, the squire of this place, an un- 
gentlemanly boor of the name of Ransome. 
The fellow won't take 'No* for an answer, 
and things have come to such a pass 
that Iris is quite afraid to go out alone, 
as Ransome is sure to waylay her, and renew 
his u n welcome protestations and demands. 
Indeed, were it not for this happy marriage, 
we should have been obliged, for our child's 
sake, to leave High Court," 

I paid little heed to this part of my friend's 
letter when reading it, but it was destined 
to be brought very vividly before my 
mind later on. 

I arrived at High Court 
about three o'clock in the 
afternoon, and found Iris 
standing in the square 
entrance -hall. She was 
surrounded by dogs, and 
was pulling on a pair of 
gauntlet gloves; she wore 
a hat, and was, evidently, 
in the act of going out 
On hearing my steps, she 
turned quickly and came 
eagerly to meet me, 

il Here you are," she 
exclaimed, holding out 
both her hands, " How 
nice ! how delightful ! 
Am I much altered. Dr. 
Halifax — would you re- 
cognise me ? " 

" Yes, I should recog- 
nise you," I answered, 
looking with admiration 
at the lovely girl " You 
have changed, of course. 
How tall you are! You 
were only a child when I 
saw you fast" 

" 1 was fifteen," an- 
swered Iris ; " the most 
troublesome monkey in 
existence. Now I am eighteen— quite grown 
up. Well, it is a real pleasure to see you 
again. Let me take you to father : he has 
been talking of nothing but your arrival all 

accomranied| Miss Romney to her 




father's study. To her surprise it was 

" Where can father be ? " she exclaimed, 
" He knew you would arrive about now. 
Perhaps he has gone to lie down — he has 
not been quite well. We won't disturb him, 
unless you particularly wish it, Dr. Halifax ? " 

" Certainly not," I replied. 

" Mother is out — she had to go to Salis- 
bury on business. May I have the pleasure 
of your society all to myself for a little ? I 
am just going out to meet Captain Vane — 
will you come with me ? I should much 
like to introduce him to you." 

"And I should like to know him," I 
replied. " Let us come for a walk, by all 
means — there is nothing I should enjoy 

We went out together. Miss Romney's 
step was full of the light spring of youth. 
She entertained me with many animated re- 
marks, and took me to several points of 
interest in the beautiful grounds. From a 
place called " The Mound " we could see the 
long, evening shadows falling across Salisbury 
Plain ; turning to our right we got a peep, in 
the dim distance, of the far-famed Cathedral. 

" Yes, yes, it is all lovely," she cried, " and 
I am in the mood to enjoy it to-day — I am 
very happy. I do not mind telling you how 
happy I am, for you are such an old 

"You may be sure I rejoice to hear of 
your happiness," I replied. I looked at her as 
I spoke. She was standing at a little distance 
from me, very upright. The dogs had 
followed us, and a great mastiff stood near 
her. She rested her white hand on his head. 
Some rays from the evening sun sparkled in 
her hair, which was very bright in hue, and 
looked now like burnished gold. Her eyes, 
full of happiness, looked frankly into mine. 
They were lovely eyes, with a tender, 
womanly expression in them. I thought 
what a happy fellow Vane would be. 

As we were standing together the silence 
was suddenly broken by the sharp report of a 

"Who can possibly be shooting in our 
grounds?" exclaimed Miss Romney. 

"The report came from that copse/' I 
answered her — "down there to our left 
Perhaps Captain Vane is amusing himself 
having a shot or two." 

" He did not take his gun with him," she 
answered ; " I saw it in the hall as we passed 
through just now. No, I am afraid I guess 
who did fire the shot " ; she paused suddenly, 
and a hot flush of annoyance swept over her 

Digitized by LiOOg I C 

face. It passed almost as quickly as it 

"There is David," she said, in a glad 
voice. " Do you see him ? He is just 
coming up that path through the trees. Let 
us go to meet him." 

We soon reached the bottom of the 
mound, and Captain Vane came quickly up to 
us. He was a tall, well-made man, of about 
twenty-eight years of age. His face was 
moulded in strong lines. He was somewhat 
dark in complexion, and had resolute eyes. 

"David, this is our old friend, Doctor 
Halifax," said Miss Romney. 

" I am glad to meet you," said Vane to 
me. He made one or two further remarks 
of an indifferent character. 

We turned presently to go back to the 
house. We had only gone about half the 
distance when Iris uttered a hoi rifled ex- 

" What is that on your handkerchief? " she 
cried to her lover. 

He had pulled his handkerchief out of his 
pocket He looked at it when she spoke, 
started, and turned pale. 

" I must apologize to you both," he ex- 
claimed. " How stupid of me ; I forgot all 
about it." 

" Your handkerchief is all over blood. 
Have you hurt yourself? " asked Iris. 

" No, not a bit of it !" He thrust the hand- 
kerchief out of sight. "The fact is simply 
this. That brute of a Ransome has been 
shooting round the premises this morning, 
and, like the cur he is, has only half done his 
work. This handkerchief is stained because 
I have been putting a pheasant out of his 
misery. It was a horrid sight. Don't let 
us talk about it any more." 

" I had a premonition that Mr. Ransome 
was somewhere near," said Iris. " The mere 
thought of that man affects me disagree- 

She shivered as she spoke. Vane looked 
at her, but did not reply. Their eyes met — 
he gave her a quick smile, but I could not 
help noticing that he looked pale and worried. 

We reached the house, where Mrs. Romney 
came out to meet us. She gave me a hearty 
welcome, and asked me to go with her at 
once to her husband. 

" The General is lying down in his study, 
Dr. Halifax, or he would come to you," she 
explained. "The fact is, he has not been 
well for some days, and just now I found 
him trembling violently, and scarcely able to 
stand. Oh, I do not think there is much the 
matter — he will be all right by-and-by, and 



3 2 7 

nothing will do him more good than a quiet 
chat with you/' 

I followed Mrs. Romney to the study. 
The General was tying on a sofa, hut when 
we approached, he rose quickly, and came 
to meet us. He was a tall, largely-made 
man, somewhat full in habit, and with 
a fresh - coloured face. That face now 
was flushed* and his eyes looked suspiciously 

* 4 Welcome," he exclaimed, holding out 
both his hands to me. "Here 1 am, and 
nothing whatever the matter with me, I had 
an attack of giddi- 
ness, but it has passed 
off. Has my wife been 
making out that I am 
an invalid, eh? Well, 
I never felt better 
in my life. It would 
be a shabby trick to 
play on you, Halifax, 
to bring you down 
here, and then give 
you doctoring work to 

"I am always pre- 
pared for doctoring 
work/' I answered, 
u but I am delighted 
to see you so fit, 

"You can leave us 
now, Mary/' said the 
General, turning to his 
wife, -and giving her 
an affectionate glance* 
"The giddiness has 
quite passed, my love, 
and a chat with Hali- 
fax will do me more 
good than anything 

Mrs, Romney went 
immediately away. 
The moment she did 
so, the General sank 
into an arm-chair, and covered his eyes with 
one of his hands. I noticed that his big 
hand shook. 

4 *The fact is," he said, in an altered tone, 
** I am not quite the thing. I did not want 
the wife to know, nor Iris, bless her. You 
are aware, or perhaps you are not, that there 
is to be a dance here to-night, Halifax — it 
would never do for an old chap like me to 
spoil sport. You have just come in the nick 
of time. Give me something to steady my 

Digitized by GOOQ I C 

I prescribed a simple dose, the ingredients 
for which were fortunately close at hand. I 
mixed it, and General Romney took the glass 
from my hand and quickly drained off the 

iS It takes a good bit out of a man to part 
with his only child," he said, "I consider 
myself, however, the luckiest father in 
existence. There never was a better fellow 
than Vane. You have seen him. What do 
yon make of him, eh ? " 

" I have scarcely spoken two dozen words 
to Captain Vane," I said. 

[ MIXED n\ 

** What does that signify? You are a keen 
observer of character* What do you make 
of the lad ? H 

" I like what I have seen of him," I 

11 1 am delighted to hear you say that," ex- 
claimed the General "When I tell you that 
I consider Vane worthy of Iris, you will 
understand that I cannot give him higher 
praise. They are devoted to one another, 
and as happy as children. We shall have a 
gay time until the wedding is over. To-night 


3 28 


there is to be a dance ; to-morrow \\v go to 
the Sinclair's*, for a farewell dinner; the next 
day — but I need not recount all our gaieties 
to you, H ;il 1 fax. Your dose has done me 
good — I feel as well as ever I did in my life 
at the present moment," 

The General certainly looked more like 
himself. The violent colour on his face had 
subsided ; his eyes were still too excited, 
though, to please me, and I purposely led the 
conversation to every -day subjects. 

There was a large dinner party at High 
Court that evening. This was to be followed 
by a dance, to which a number of guests had 
been invited. 

Iris sat near me at dinner — she wore white, 
which suited her well. Her face was so 
vivacious, her hair so bright, the sparkle in 
her flashing eyes gave so much light and 
movement to her expression, that no vivid 
colour was needed to set off her remarkable 
beauty, Vane sat opposite to the bride- 
elect, and I found myself looking at him 
several times during dinner with much 
interest He was on the whole the most 
silent of the party, and I guessed him to be 
a man of few words, but I felt certain by 
the thoughtful gleam in his eyes and the firm 
cut of his lips that he was one to be relied 
on and rested uj>on in the battle of life. 

Immediately after 
dinner, the ladies 
went upstairs to re- 
arrange their dresses 
for the coming ball> 
and General Romney 
motioned me up to 
his end of the table. 
He resumed the con- 
versation we had had 
before dinner, and 
assured me several 
times in a low voice 
that the medicine 1 
had given him had 
completely removed 
the nervous attack 
from which he had 
been suffering when 
I first saw him, 

"Not that I have 
been at all the thing 
for some time," he 
added ; ll but well 
talk of my ailments 
when the ball is 
over. Nothing must 
interfere with Iris's 
bridal ball, bless her." 

We did not stay long over wine, and I 
presently found myself standing